


Force of Habit

by jncar



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, imported for archiving, old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7807201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie discovers that being in love isn't a habit she can break. Set just post "I am Leslie Knope". Originally posted September-October 2011 on Live Journal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am importing old fics from Live Journal for archiving purposes.

The first time Leslie slips up it is just before dusk at Ramsett Park.

Earlier that month Leslie had shared her list of Parks projects that lacked funding with Barnes, and he suggested that she choose her top three and try to get them done with community donations. He said it would raise public awareness of her and her campaign, and garner a lot of good publicity, but she mostly liked the idea because it would be a way to get some of her pet projects done.

The first project on the list was to paint over all the graffiti at the public restrooms in Ramsett Park, and she managed to get local businesses to fund the whole thing (in exchange for a nice plaque to hang over the drinking fountain). But it's up to volunteer labor to get the job done.

On the day of the project, April and Andy leave early for one of MouseRat's increasingly frequent gigs. Ron leaves at five because he apparently can't wait any longer for his dinner. Ann has a night shift at the hospital, so can't stay much past five either. And Barnes never shows up. So by six o'clock the only volunteer labor still helping Leslie is Ben.

Ben, who looks amazing in paint-spattered jeans and a forest-green tee shirt. Ben who works tirelessly for her campaign and all her pet projects and never asks for anything in return. Ben who she still hopes wants to be with her again after she wins the election and figures out a way to make it work.

They finish the last coat of crisp gray paint on the exterior of the restrooms just as the sun is setting. Ben leans over to start packing away the supplies when Leslie notices a smudge of fresh paint just to the side of his eyebrow.

"Hey—you've got a little blob right there."

He looks at her quizzically, and without thinking she reaches out to wipe the paint away with her thumb. His eyes widen in surprise, and he catches her wrist just before she pulls away.

"It was paint," she says. "I was just wiping it up." And his eyes are locked on hers with an intensity she wasn't expecting, and she's suddenly very aware that this is the first time they've touched in nearly a month, and his body is so close to hers, and no one else is around, and before she realizes what she's doing she's already stretching up to kiss him.

His lips open against hers, and his free arm circles her back, pulling her in, even while he still clings to her wrist, and oh god it feels amazing.

And then it's done and his hands are in his pockets and he's shuffling back from her, staring at the ground.

"We shouldn't—that was—I—" He stumbles over his words.

"You're right. We can't. I'm sorry." It hurts to have to say those words. It's like splitting open a fresh scar before it had a chance to finish healing. Why did he have to be so damn thoughtful? If he would just be a jerk once in a while, it would make this so much easier. "That was my fault," she says. "Old habits die hard, I guess. Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." His eyes still focus on the ground, his hands still in his pockets. "We should—uh—finish cleaning up. Before the light is gone."

"Yeah." She nods. "Back to work."

Leslie doesn't talk about anything but work while they finish up. She knows she wouldn't have the right words, and she's pretty sure that anything Ben says would just make her want him more, so she's glad he keeps quiet, too.

By tomorrow, they can both just pretend it never happened.

But pretending won't make her forget.

*

Leslie tries to stay strong and treat Ben like any other friendly colleague, but he doesn't make it easy. Not with way he communicates from across the room during meetings with the tilt of an eyebrow or a quirk of his lips that only she understands. Or with the way he brings her a coffee every time he stops by the Parks department, doctored with chocolate syrup and whipped cream just the way she likes it. Or the way he always find a few minutes three or four times a week for a private chat, just to check on her and make sure she's doing okay. 

Yes, most of the time she can ignore those pesky feelings and fill her empty time with more campaign planning or writing policy papers or cultivating network contacts. But in the quiet moments in between all the hustle and bustle, her mind always circles back around to Ben. And when she goes to bed alone every night, she misses him desperately.

She slips up again on the 4th of July.

With the help of a generous donation from Sweetums, she's managed to organize the first Pawnee City Fireworks display in eight years.

Everything is going great. So great that Leslie takes the time to stop running from place to place and just leans back against a fence and watches the bursts of color exploding in the clear night sky, grinning as if she were five all over again.

Naturally, that's the moment Ben finds her. He leans against the fence next to her and squeezes her hand. "Great work on this. It looks amazing. I've always loved fireworks."

"Me too." And he's slouching so low that all she has to do is lean toward him a little (it's almost like he did it on purpose) and then her lips are pressed against his.

This time it's slow, and sweet, and for a few seconds there's nothing but the feeling of his lips against hers and the sound of the shells bursting overhead. Yes, kissing under fireworks is a total cliché, but Leslie's starting to think that it's one of her favorite clichés when Ben pulls back.

"This is a mistake."

She bites back an angry retort when he adds, "Not that I didn't like it—I did. But you're risking everything, Leslie. This isn't worth the risk."

She blinks, looking around, suddenly aware that just in front of them is a crowd of thousands of Pawnee residents, any of whom could have seen them. In a single moment of weakness she could have just ended her campaign.

"Crap. Sorry. Right. Old habits again. Gotta go." And she dashes away from him, willing herself not to look back.

His words echo in her ears all night, and when she finally curls up in her bed in the early hours of the morning, she hugs a pillow to her chest and wonders—is he right? Is it really not worth the risk? 

Of course he's right. She'd give anything to win this election. Well, maybe anything. She wouldn't give up Ann—but she doesn't have to give up Ann. Why is Ben any different? It really sucks. She knew she would miss him, but it’s a hell of a lot harder than she ever would have imagined. 

She doesn't know what to do.

*

Leslie manages to avoid Ben for more than two weeks (Except for in large-group meetings, because she can't exactly skip those, especially when they're meetings for her own campaign. But at least she avoids talking directly to him.) When she does finally run into him alone in the hall, he seems a little cautious and reserved, which is fine with her. Cautious and reserved is what she needs right now. She is not going to let her lady parts do the thinking and ruin this election for her. And Ben respects that. She knows he does. Probably more than she does sometimes, which is so sweet. He's so nice, and cares so much about her success, and—Crap! She really has to stop thinking like that.

She manages to keep things professional well into September—professional, yet friendly. It's not perfect. She still wants more; but this is all she can seem to manage right now.

Then the work for this year's Harvest Festival takes over her days and Ben is suddenly hanging around the Parks Department most of his workday every day to help out. Having him around so much reminds Leslie of all the good times they had working on the festival together last year. She starts fixating on how good his hair looks, even after ten hours at work, and how easy he is to talk to. One day she spontaneously initiates the silly handshake they made up during last year's festival to celebrate their successes, and he looks so damn happy when she does. 

She knows right then that she's in trouble. But she can't bring herself to pull back—it feels too good to be friends with him again.

The night before the festival launches she does one final stroll through the fair grounds, and finds herself lingering in front of the small pavilion that housed Li'l Sebastian last year, and this year will hold a small petting zoo.

It isn't the same.

Her mind drifts back to just how hard it was to lose Li'l Sebastian. And how his funeral had been the beginning of the end with Ben.

She rests her elbows on the fence around the pavilion, and, staring off into space, feels a few tears slide down her cheeks.

"Hey—are you all right?"

Ben. Of course it's Ben. It's always Ben.

She sniffs and wipes her face. "I'm fine. I'm just—remembering stuff. Good stuff."

"Good stuff that makes you cry?" He leans against the fence next to her.

She nods. "It can do that, sometimes."

"Yeah. I get that." 

His eyes lock on hers, and hold her gaze. She sees the moisture glistening in his eyes, too, and wonders just for a moment what good memories he might be thinking about.

Then his hand cups her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss. A deep, hungry kiss that leaves her dizzy and out of breath when he finally pulls back.

It takes them both a moment to regain their equilibrium. Ben speaks first. "I guess you're not the only one who has trouble breaking old habits."

"I guess not." Wow. That was just—wow.

He steps back a little, leaving a gap between them. A gap that she desperately wants to cross. Stupid rules. Stupid ethics. She hates ethics—she just wants her boyfriend back! Is that so wrong?

The voice of rationality that lives in the back of her head reminds her that yes, yes it is. And as long as he's still her boss, it always will be.

She looks down at her feet. If she looks up at his cute mouth again right now, she's done for. "I think I need to go home now."

"Yeah." She can hear the heartache in his voice, just like on the day they first ended things. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea."

She swallows and nods. "See you tomorrow."

"Good-night."

*

They play it safe for the next few weeks. Leslie doesn't want to avoid him—that hurts even more than seeing him. And he doesn't seem to want to avoid her, either. But she's careful not to get too friendly. And even more careful never to be alone with him. He seems to get it. They don't need to lay down the rules. They both know what's at stake.

When the week of Halloween rolls around, Tom hands out free passes to the costume party that Entertainment 720 is putting on at the Snakehole Lounge to all his old friends in City Hall, and Ann convinces Leslie to go, even though Ben will probably be there.

"Why are you so worried about seeing Ben?" Ann asks. "You ended things months ago, and you see him almost every day at work. Why would the party be any different?"

"Alcohol," answers Leslie immediately.

Ann rolls her eyes. "So as soon as you get a little tipsy you're going to throw yourself at him? I don't think so."

Ann doesn't know about all their slip-ups. For some reason, Leslie kept them to herself. So she has no good excuse, and finally relents and agrees to go. She'll just have to be careful not to get too drunk. Very careful.

Leslie goes to the party dressed as Hillary Clinton. (She's still campaigning, after all. It's best to keep things professional.) To her surprise, Ben is nowhere to be seen. Even after more than an hour he still hasn't turned up. So she lets her guard down and has a few more drinks with Ann, and dances with Donna and Tom, and starts having a really good time.

A few drinks later she's dancing with April and Andy, and she finally sees Ben. She doesn't know when he came in or how long he's been there at one of the tables near the bar, but there are three empty beer bottles beside him and it looks like he drank them all himself. He's staring at her as she dances and when he sees her looking at him, he stands up and waves, an awkward half-smile on his face.

He's dressed as Han Solo, and holy crap he looks good in those tight pants with that low-slung thigh holster and his v-neck shirt showing off a little of his chest.

She should turn around and walk away right now. That would be the safe thing to do. The professional thing to do. But she doesn't feel very professional right now.

Andy catches sight of Ben and leads the way over to his table, giving Leslie the perfect excuse to follow. "Hey roomie! When'd you get here?"

Ben smiles at them. "A little while ago."

"You should totally come dance with us," says Andy.

"Yeah. Don't be boring Ben, tonight," adds April. "Come dance."

Ben's eyes flick over to Leslie, and she smiles at him. "Come dance with us." She knows she shouldn't have said that, but they're with April and Andy in a crowded club. What could possibly happen?

He smiles back. "Okay."

They all make their way back onto the crowded dance floor, and Leslie giggles because Ben can't really dance, but Andy's not much better, so at least he's not alone. 

Surrounded by the swirling crowd of elaborately costumed people it's easy to get caught up in the pounding rhythms of the music—especially because she's more than a little tipsy by now. As the dancers press around them, she edges closer to Ben and drapes her arms around his shoulders as they move, and he must be a little tipsy, too, because he doesn't object.

After several songs, April and Andy have been swept away in the sea of people, and Ben starts leading her to the edge of the dance floor. After a minute they break out of the crowd, and he takes her hand and pulls her toward a small, dark booth in an isolated corner at the back of the club. He looks so exhilarated and happy, and she can't resist following him when he looks like this.

Neither of them speak—talking doesn't feel necessary at this point. They both know what's going to happen.

He pulls her down onto the padded bench seat, and wraps his arms around her, kissing her with a frenzied, desperate passion that she's happy to reciprocate. 

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the hypnotically pounding music, or the fact that everyone is pretending to be someone else tonight, or some combination of all three, but she doesn't stop for an instant to worry about being seen, or to wonder what might happen tomorrow. Right now she's not candidate Leslie Knope, and he's not Ben Wyatt her boss.

She's just Hillary Clinton making out with Han Solo, and it's totally awesome.

"Oh god. Okay—break it up, you two." Ann's voice breaks through Leslie's lust-filled reverie.

"Go away, Ann," Leslie says, but Ben is already pulling back, with one of his endearing "lost-puppy" expressions on his face, and Ann is tugging at her arm.

Leslie stumbles to her feet and tries to shake Ann off her arm, but Ann refuses to let go—she has a grip like iron. "Nooo," whines Leslie. "I want to stay here with Ben!"

"We need to go home now," says Ann firmly.

"She's right," says Ben. "You should go with her."

In direct contradiction to how happy she felt just seconds earlier, Leslie now feels tears welling in her eyes. "It's not fair. None of this is fair."

"No. It's not," replies Ben, his expression changing from "lost-puppy" to "puppy-that-just-watched-its-mom-get-run-over-by-a-truck."

"But that's life," he concludes. "You should go home with Ann."

She's knows that even if she stays there will be no more making out, and Ben will probably avoid her for the rest of the night. And she knows that he'll be right to do so. They've been reckless and stupid, and it's time to grow up and act like adults. So she blinks back her tears and nods firmly in her best Hillary-esque fashion, and lets Ann lead her out of the club. They take a cab back to Ann's place, and don't talk much until they get there.

Ann sits down with Leslie on the couch. "So—you kind of knew that would happen, didn't you?"

Leslie nods glumly. All she wants to do is curl up with a teddy bear and watch some mind-numbing reality TV. Anything to make her forget how impossible her life feels right now.

"Has something been going on between you two that you didn't tell me about?"

Time to spill. She should have told Ann from the start. Things never would have gotten out of control like this if she'd just talked to Ann. "Tonight wasn't the first time we've kissed since we broke up."

Ann sighs and sinks back into the cushions. "How often have you been doing this?"

"Just once. Well—once every month and a half, or so."

Ann puts her face in her hands. "Oh, Leslie."

"I know, I know. It's stupid, and reckless, and I'm risking everything I've been working so hard for. I know. But I just—" her voice catches in her throat, and she feels the tears welling again. "I care about him so much. This is really hard. I don't know what to do."

As the tears start rolling down her cheeks, Ann pulls her into a hug and lets her cry. Ann is perfect—beautiful, perfect, best friend Ann. After a few minutes, Ann asks, "Do you think, maybe, the reason this is so hard is because you might be in love with him?"

Leslie sniffles and leans her head against Ann's shoulder. In love with Ben? God—she's thought she was in love dozens of times, but she'd gotten over all those guys in days (or at least weeks). But she hadn't had to work with any of those guys every day, either. Maybe the proximity to Ben is the problem. But avoiding Ben hadn't made things any better. So maybe it isn't proximity. And none of the other guys had understood her the way Ben does. He even understands how much this election means to her. And even though a couple of her old boyfriends were better looking than Ben, they hadn't been able to make her guts flip flop the way Ben can with just a glance. And she'd never much liked letting other boyfriends sleep over very often—she valued her space. But she wished Ben could sleep over every single night. He'd never felt like an intruder—instead, he always seemed to fit in a way no other boyfriend ever had. So is this what love is?

"I think I might be," she finally admits.

"Oh, honey. I think you are." Ann strokes her hair.

"So what do I do?"

Ann sighs. "Do you want to drop out of the election?"

"No!" Leslie sits upright, shocked by the suggestion. "I want to win!"

Ann nods. "That's what I thought you'd say." She sighs. "There's only one thing you can do."

"What! What!" Does Ann have some miraculous strategy to let her date Ben and still win the election that neither of them thought of before?

"You have to be patient."

Leslie's shoulders sag. Crap.

Ann continues, "You'll have to quit your job when you win, and then Ben won't be your boss anymore. You just have to wait until after the election, and get back together with him then."

Leslie pouts and whimpers. "I hate waiting."

"It's your only option."

"But what if he doesn't feel the same way? It's still six months until the election. What if doesn't want to wait?"

"Then he doesn't deserve you," says Ann firmly. "But I'm pretty sure he'll wait for you. He's really crazy about you, Leslie."

"Do you think he's in love with me?" Leslie squeaks out. What if he's not? God, that thought churns her guts. What if she's tearing herself apart for a man who doesn't love her?

Ann gives her a pointed look. "I think he does."

"Are you sure?"

"No. How can I be sure?" Ann shrugs. "You'll just have to wait. Be patient, Leslie. If this thing between you is meant to be, then it'll survive the next six months. I promise."

Six months. Crap, that's a long time to wait.

*

The next morning, after sleeping off the alcohol on Ann's couch, Leslie realizes that she can't wait for Ben unless she knows he'll wait for her.

"Are you sure about this?" asks Ann skeptically as she flips the pancakes she's making for breakfast.

"Yes." Leslie's made her mind up. "I'm not going to spend six months of my life building up this relationship in my mind without knowing that he's onboard. I'm not the kind of woman who wastes her time pining after a man who doesn't want her." She stops herself for a moment, remembering Mark. She raises her pointer finger. "Well, at least I'm not that kind of woman any more. That was old Leslie. This is new Leslie. New Leslie confronts her problems head on. She rips the band-aid off. She jumps into the deep end. She—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," says Ann. "Go ahead and call him."

Leslie digs out her phone and dials before she loses her nerve.

His voice is gravelly with sleep when he answers, and Leslie realizes that it's just past 7 am on a weekend. 

"Oh—I woke you up. I'm sorry. I'll call back later."

"No—wait. It's okay. What's up?" He still seems groggy, but she's committed.

She plunges forward. "We need to talk about this bad habit of ours."

"Yeah. Yeah, we probably should." She can hear a hint of amusement in his voice. "I wouldn't really call it a bad habit. It's actually pretty good. Just—very poorly timed."

She smiles. Thank god he has a sense of humor about this. "That's a pretty big understatement. Our timing is more than poor—it's terrible. Horrendous. Hindenburg-level disastrous."

"It'll only be a Hindenburg-level disaster if we get caught. Which, to be fair, we probably will if this keeps happening."

"Hence the need to talk."

She hears him take a deep breath. "Okay. Do you want to do this now? Or should we, I don't know, do this in person?"

"In person," she replies. This is way too big a deal to do over the phone. Besides, she wants the chance to touch him one more time before he's completely off-limits. "I'm at Ann's house. Can you come over?"

"You—want to do this at Ann's house?"

"Yes. I think we might need a chaperone."

"Fine. Yeah. I guess things do tend to happen when we're alone together."

"Yes!" Leslie replies. "If anyone asks about our relationship I need to be able to answer honestly that we're not sleeping together, and if we met somewhere else—well—I might not be able to say that anymore."

"That's a valid concern." She's glad to hear he agrees. She'd hate be the only one about to lose control every time they get close to each other. "Okay," he says. "I'll be over in less than a half an hour. Will that work?"

"Absolutely." Okay. Just a little more waiting, and she'll get her answer. Ugh. She really hates waiting.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Leslie's on edge until Ben knocks on the door. (She still manages to eat a big stack of pancakes—no sense in letting perfectly good breakfast food go to waste.)

After Ann lets Ben in, she shuts herself in her bedroom, giving them enough privacy to talk, but still close enough to discourage any bigger mistakes.

Ben looks deliciously disheveled in jeans and an untucked, rumpled plaid shirt. Leslie just feels frumpy in borrowed sweats with messy hair. But the way he looks at her says otherwise—another reason to love him.

They sit on opposite ends of the couch.

"Well," he says.

She takes a deep breath. "Well."

He smiles. "Clearly, we're really bad at this whole _breaking up_ thing."

She smiles back. He always knows how to put her at ease. "Yep. I would even say that we suck at it."

His smile sags a little. "We have to do better. _I_ have to do better. I refuse to be the reason your campaign fails. You've earned this, and I won't ruin it for you."

God, he's amazing. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

He keeps smiling, but his eyes are sad. "I think maybe we need to stop being friends."

Leslie's jaw drops and her heart seems to freeze in her chest. "What? No!"

He spreads his hands and shakes his head. "I don't know what else to do. Every time we let ourselves get too friendly for too many days in row, we end up draped all over each other. In public places. If this keeps happening, your campaign will be over months before you even get close to the election. And we can't just start sneaking around again. You've always talked about how important integrity is in politics, and I don't want you to have to lie your way into office because of me."

"Integrity _is_ important, and I don't want to lie. That's not the way to start a successful political career," she agrees. "But it might almost be worth it. Almost."

Ben says, "Almost. But not quite. You need to achieve your dream the right way, with your integrity still intact. Cutting off contact might be the only way to make this work."

Leslie swallows and stiffens her spine. Time to rip off the band-aid. "Are you saying this because you want to cut off contact?"

"God no!" He looks like she just slapped him. "Of course I don't want to cut off contact. But I want you to win. You deserve to win. And I want you to win the right way. That's more important to me than being able to talk to you every day. This is the only solution I can think of."

This makes Leslie's heart race and she can't fight back her smile. No one else has ever cared this much about her dreams. Why is it that every time he tries to back away from their relationship he just makes her want him even more? "Well, it's a crappy solution, and I reject it," she says.

"Uh—" His mouth hangs open. "What else are we supposed to do? It's unethical to sneak around, and when we're friends we can't keep our hands off each other."

"I think that maybe the reason we have such a hard time keeping our hands off of each other is because we're afraid we'll never get another chance. But what if we make an agreement that there absolutely will be another chance? Maybe that'll make it easier to wait."

The light seems to be dawning in his eyes. "Are you saying that you're willing to wait for me until after the election?"

She nods, grinning so hard it hurts. "Yes. I am. I'll be able to honestly say that you and I are just friends without having to explain that we're only _just friends_ until we can ethically start making out again. If I win, I'll have to quit my job, so you won't be my boss anymore. And I can recuse myself from any city council votes regarding hiring or firing or raises or whatever for the city manager's department. That'll eliminate the biggest ethical issue with our relationship. Or, potential relationship." She swallows. "You haven't said if you're willing to do this, yet." She holds his gaze, waiting nervously.

"Yes," he says, finally grinning back. "Yes. I want this. I've wanted this from the start, but we were only together for less than two months— I didn't want to come on too strong. I was afraid to put so much pressure on you when you were in the middle of so many other big decisions."

Leslie feels like whooping with joy. "Well, stop being scared because I want this, Ben. I want you. And six more months isn't going to change that."

"Okay. Awesome. That's—that's perfect. I feel the same way. Six months won't change how I feel about you. I'm sure of it." He looks elated, and she loves that she can do that to him. 

Boy does she want to jump him right now. "Yes! So, we won't be able to make out for six more months," that sounds like freaking forever, "but once I win and quit my job, we can make out all we want! Yay! And sex—don't forget the sex."

He laughs. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I won't forget the sex." He snakes his arm forward to take her hand. "So—we're really going to do this."

"Yep. We are. We just have to be patient and careful for the next six months. Friends only—no messing around. No romantic stuff. And then, after the election, you're all mine."

They both laugh stupidly for a minute, clinging to each other's hands like they're holding onto a lifeline. Ann's voice calls out from her bedroom, "Okay you two—I'm giving you exactly 5 minutes to make out. This has to last you six months, so make the most of it."

Leslie knows by now to take Ann at her word. She leaps across the couch, flinging herself at Ben and his cute mouth before he has a chance to react. But he catches on pretty quick. Before long his hands feel like they're _everywhere_ , and her whole body is on fire, and she never, ever wants to stop kissing him.

Naturally, that's when Ann shouts that time is up, and comes striding out of her room. Leslie looks up from where she's sitting straddled on Ben's lap. "Really? That couldn't have been five minutes, could it?"

"Yes, it really was. And for me, it felt like an eternity. I'll never be able to un-hear that. Bleh."

"Sorry," says Ben, his face flushing.

"I'll survive. Now untangle yourselves. Come on. We're officially entering _plausible deniability_ territory. No more messing around. No more public shenanigans. No more making out here, or anywhere else. From this moment forward we all need to be able to say that the two of you are nothing more than friends." She shoos Leslie off of Ben's lap.

Leslie goes meekly, rather impressed by Ann's choice of terminology. She must have been paying attention during all of Leslie's lectures on political scandals, after all.

Ben shifts around, crossing his legs in an attempt to hide the visible effects of their five minutes of bliss. "So—what now?"

Ann plops down into an armchair. "Now you two wrap it up, and then you—" she points at Ben, "will have to go home. Hanging out all Sunday with your not-a-girlfriend and her best friend pushes the envelope of the plausible deniability thing a little too far."

Leslie smiles at her friend for suddenly showing such politically astute inclinations. Too bad it has to be about this particular issue. Hanging out all day sounds pretty awesome. But if they're really going to commit to this "waiting six months" thing, she needs to be strong and take a stand now. No more slip-ups. "Ann's right. We need to make sure we're on the same page going forward, and then go our separate ways for the rest of the day."

Ben nods. "Okay. That sounds like the mature thing to do." Leslie enjoys hearing the twinge of regret in his voice.

"So," says Leslie, "I guess from here on out we need to go back to the way things have been over the past few months—work friends. Nothing more."

"Work friends." Ben slouches over, resting his elbows on his knees. "Okay. So—that means we can talk, and joke, and hang out at work. But, uh, no social interactions outside of official city business."

"That sounds about right. What about phone calls after hours? Could we do that?"

Ben looks thoughtful, but Ann pipes up. "Probably not, unless you have work-related reasons. What if one of you called when the other was hanging out with people who might overhear things they shouldn't overhear?"

"What about if we call in the middle of the night when we're sure the other person will be alone?" asks Ben.

Ann glares at him. "Phone sex definitely crosses the ethical line. Nothing romantic! I say no social phone calls at all."

"I didn't say it would be phone sex." Ben looks pained.

"And how many late-night phone calls would it take for you to end up having phone sex?" Ann asks sternly.

"Two," replies Leslie honestly. She'd probably be too nervous the first time, but she'd get over it fast. Ben, on the other hand, might prove more reluctant. "Well, maybe three."

"You see? A telephone romance is still a romance. Every time someone asked about the two of you and you said you were just friends, you'd have to lie. Didn't you both agree that we don't want Leslie to have to lie her way into office?" says Ann.

"Fine. No social phone calls," agrees Ben, though he doesn't seem happy about it.

"And no secret notes, or little romantic gifts, or flirting when no one's watching. None of it." Ann folds her arms, looking stern.

"She's right," says Leslie, though she hates to admit it. "If we do anything— _anything_ that crosses that romantic line, I'll have to start lying. Waiting for six months to take our friendship to the next level is not crossing the line. But doing anything even remotely romantic in the meantime is crossing it. If I want to run a clean, honest campaign, we need to play it extra safe. It sucks, but at least there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Right?"

Ben smiles and nods. "Right." She can tell by the dullness in his eyes that he's not entirely happy about the arrangement. And neither is she. But it's better than cutting off contact and giving up on the chance of a relationship completely. 

They both reluctantly agree to all the conditions. Friends. Sure. Leslie can do this. She can manage.

After things are settled and all the rules are worked out, Ann turns her back and pretends not to be watching in case they want to kiss again, but Leslie forces herself to keep her distance and shakes Ben's hand instead. "Sorry," she says. "But we've got to get used to this."

"Okay." Ben sighs, clinging to her hand far longer than necessary before slowly sliding his fingers across her hand and letting it drop. "So. That's it."

"That's it," replies Leslie as they step apart. "I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow." Ben looks over Leslie's shoulder to Ann. "Thank you. Really."

Ann smiles and nods. "You're welcome. What are friends for? See you tomorrow."

After he's gone, Leslie sinks to the couch and says, "This is probably the first and only time I'll ever say this, but I can't wait until I can finally quit my job."

Ann sits beside her, a grave expression on her face. "Not to be a downer—but I'm just trying to think realistically here. What if you don't win? What then? Is he still worth quitting your job for?"

Ugh. Way to throw cold water on her post-make-out high. Leslie frowns. "It doesn't matter, because I _will_ win."

"But what if you don't?"

Leslie closes her eyes and lets that unwelcome thought swirl for a moment—if she didn't have city council, would she still be willing to give up her job (her second family) to be with Ben? She really doesn't want to have to answer that question.

She shakes her head. "It's not worth thinking about. I'm going to win."

Ann nods and doesn't press her again. And Leslie sticks that unpleasant thought as far in the back of her mind as it will go.

*

Being just friends again sucks. Big time.

It seems just fine when they're joking together after a meeting, or catching up on city hall gossip in the hall, or exchanging opinions on Chris's latest crazy health idea in the courtyard over lunch. But then they have to say good-bye, and Leslie's insides start to ache.

She hates that she can't call Ben when a really cool documentary comes on in the evening. She hates that she has to drag Ann along to Indianapolis to the Indiana State Museum to see the traveling exhibit on the history and use of corn, (and a pretty cool exhibit on Shackleton's Antarctic explorations, too) because she knows Ben would have loved to go, but Ann is only humoring her. And she hates that every conversation she has with Ben feels truncated. There's always so more she wants to say, but can't because it might just cross the line.

Ben has a special smile he gives her (she knows it's special, because she never sees him smile that way at anyone else) to let her know that he feels the same way. That he hates waiting, too. And to let her know that he's still onboard with their plan. The smile is nice. But the waiting still sucks.

Everything comes to a head a mere three and a half weeks into their new plan. It's Thanksgiving, and Leslie spends it with her mom and a few old family friends, as usual. Ben's in Minnesota with his brother's family. That evening, after dinner, he photo-texts her. It's a picture of him holding his baby niece.

Leslie wonders if it's creepy that Ben holding a baby is somehow way sexier to her than pretty much any other version of Ben. Probably. But she doesn't care.

She can't help herself. She texts back—two simple words: "Miss you."

A few minutes later her phone beeps. It's Ben's reply. "Miss you, too. Next year you can come with me."

Wow. Her heart pounds. Next year she could be so much a part of his life that she gets to hang out with his family. Maybe they'd call her Aunt Leslie. And half of her is scared that he's thinking like that (and that he's gotten her to start thinking like that) and the other half is thrilled that he wants her that way—not just as a secret lover, like before, but as a real, permanent part of his life. Because no other guy has ever wanted that with her.

She was pretty sure she loved him before this, but now, she's really sure.

God, the next five months are going to suck.

*

Leslie's real mistakes start the week after Thanksgiving. She rationalizes that the social texts they'd sent each other over the holiday break hadn't led to disaster. They'd actually been pretty wonderful, and reassuring. So a few more social texts now and then wouldn't be a big deal, would they?

On Wednesday she texts Ben that she really likes his new shirt. And he texts back that her hair looks really nice today. That puts her in a fabulous mood for the rest of the day.

On Saturday, after her mid-day meet-and-greet event she gets take-out and comes home for a quiet night of TV and writing policy papers. There's an American Pickers marathon on the History channel, and she starts texting Ben about the weird objects they find in people's old barns, and pretty soon he starts texting her back with guesses about how much the old pinball machine they bought will appraise for. They spend four hours watching the shows "together." It's almost like a date, except she doesn't get to snuggle with him and there's no sex at the end of the night. She really misses that part, and she's tempted to text that to him, but she resists. No romantic stuff. That was the deal.

They start watching shows together (via text message) a few times a week. It's a fun little ritual that Leslie still feels comfortable putting in the "just friends" category.

Things get harder as Christmas approaches. Leslie is busy with the Winter Wonderland Festival (the profits from this year's Harvest Festival were big enough to bring it back), and Ben hasn't volunteered to help. (Leslie suspects Ann of warning him away). Leslie tries not to let it bug her, but it's the week before Christmas and she's feeling really stressed and it would be awesome just to have him around, and she's barely seen him in days. Finally, after the third long day of the festival she texts Ben: "Wish you were here. I could really use a hug."

He texts back immediately, almost as if he'd been waiting by his phone. "Wish I could give you that hug. And a kiss to go with it." Then, a moment later: "And a big mug of hot chocolate and wrap us both in a warm blanket and watch It's a Wonderful Life together. Maybe next year."

Even though she's outside in the cold supervising the nightly clean-up crew, Leslie suddenly feels warm all over. She texts back: "Jimmy Stewart Marathon. You and me. Next year. Count on it."

He replies: "I'll be there."

Nothing romantic about that. Nothing at all.

And it's just the thoughtful gesture of a friend when she finds a holiday mug holding a packet of hot chocolate mix and a handful of Hershey's Hugs and Kisses sitting on her desk beside a dvd of "It's a Wonderful Life" when she gets back from lunch the next day. Yep. Just friends. Really—she'll swear to it.

God, she wants to kiss him right now.

*

Ben goes to Minnesota again for Christmas, and Leslie divides the day between her mom and a "Christmas brunch" party put on by April and Andy. (Leslie has to make most of the food). She texts Ben that he's missing a hell of a party, and he replies: "I'll take watching my nieces and nephews open presents over a Mouse Rat brunch every year. Sorry. Just can't compete."

This sends Leslie's imagination spinning, picturing Ben in a crowd of happy adults, smiling and laughing as the little kids rip open shiny wrapping paper and squeal with delight. Leslie only has four cousins, and they're all separated from each other by several years of age difference, so she never had anything like that growing up. It sounds really nice.

She hopes she gets to be a part of it someday.

Late in the evening, after finishing the "brunch" (which lasted from 11am-4pm for Leslie and might still be going for the other attendees) and having Christmas dinner with her mom, Leslie comes home to her quiet house and suddenly feels rather pathetically lonely. With Ann, Ben, and Ron all visiting family, she feels like she has no one to turn to.

She opens a bottle of wine and puts on "It's a Wonderful Life" for the 3rd time since Ben gave it to her. Halfway through both the movie and the bottle of wine, Leslie starts to cry. Is she acting like George Bailey? Always fixating on some big dream that's just out of reach instead of appreciating the wonderful life she has right now? Maybe this whole election thing is nothing but a pipe-dream, and she'd be happier if she gave it up to be with Ben. He can be the Mary to her George, and make all her sacrifices worth it. Can't he?

Her phone is in her hand dialing Ben before she quite realizes what she's doing.

"Hi, you," he answers, a cheery tone in his voice. There's a lot of noise and laughter in the background. "Here—let me just go to another room where it'll be quieter."

"Okay," she mumbles, waiting.

She hears a door shut. "Now we have some privacy," he says. "I've been thinking about calling you all day. I just wasn't sure if it'd be kosher under our rules."

"Probably not, but I don't really care right now. I really miss you." Her voice shakes as she speaks.

"I miss you, too. As great as it is seeing my family, everything feels incomplete. Because you're not here to share it."

"Oh god," she moans. The tears are coming again. "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?"

She chokes back a sob. "I think I need to drop out of the election."

"What?"

"I should have picked you. I should have picked you, instead of the campaign, and we should have told Chris and faced the consequences and found a way to make it work."

"Leslie—"

She won't let him interrupt. "No! If I'd picked you, I wouldn't feel so lonely and miserable right now."

"No, you'd feel a completely different kind of miserable, and you'd be full of regrets, and you'd always be wondering _what if_ , and it would end up ruining our relationship."

Crap. Why does he have to be so sensible when she's having a breakdown? It makes her feel like a child. She sniffles loudly, and wipes at her tears.

"Are you crying? God, Les. Please don't cry." He sounds really upset, now.

"I can't help myself," she whines.

"Okay," he says, putting on his sensible voice again, "as personally gratifying as all this is, I have to ask—have you been drinking?"

"A little." She sniffles again. "Some cheap champagne at brunch. And some eggnog at dinner. And about a half a bottle of wine since then. Just a little."

"Oh boy." 

"You think this is just drunk talk."

"I am wondering that, yes."

She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. "You might be right. Crap. I don't know. I don't what I'm doing. I hate having to choose. Why do I have to choose?"

"You don't have to choose—remember? You just have to wait."

"That's almost as bad!" Ugh. Four more months. How can she do this for four more months when it already hurts so much? "I wish you were here right now."

"So do I. God, you have no idea how much I wish I was there to hold you—to make things better."

She smiles and groans at the same time. "Oh, that would be nice. And then I'd rip off all your clothes and ride you until we both passed out."

"Fuck." He sounds so needy and eager. God, it turns her on.

"And then we'd wake up—" she says.

"And I'd kiss every inch of your body," he replies. 

"Mmmm." She's starting to feel warm. "I'd get out the whipped cream and lick it off of your body. But not the hairy parts—I don't like hair in my whipped cream."

He lets out a low, throaty chuckle. "Okay. You can avoid the hairy parts. And then I'd do that thing with your toes that you like so much."

Now she can feel herself getting wet. "Ooo. Nice. I'd slip into my presidential blazer for you—and nothing else. Maybe I should go get it on right now."

"Oh god, yes."

She grins and sinks back into the couch cushions. "Can you imagine me like that—lying on the couch, waiting for you?"

"Yes." He's quiet for a moment, and says, "I really want to go down on you right now."

"Crap, I wish you were here." She closes her eyes and groans.

"Are you touching yourself?"

The raw need in his voice shocks her eyes back open. "No." 

"Do it. Touch yourself. Pretend that I'm there with you, going down on you, and touch yourself. Please."

Leslie's tried phone sex a couple of times in the past, and it was always rather silly, with lots of giggling and role play, and weird voices. This is different. This is just Ben, with that raw grumble in his voice that he only uses when they're in bed together, and she hasn't heard it in months, and god it's turning her on. She slides her hand into her pants, feeling the moisture between her legs, and pictures Ben hanging over her, his hair messy from her hands, his eyes shining with eager anticipation, and she gasps.

"Are you doing it?" he asks, hungry.

"Yes. Are you touching yourself, too?"

"Yes."

Holy god.

He starts describing—in exquisite detail—exactly what he'd be doing to her if they were together right now, and she closes her eyes and moves her hand in time with the steady rhythm of his speech, and imagines him doing the same to himself.

It's almost embarrassing how fast she comes, her hips bucking up against where his body ought to be, crying out his name. As she's still gasping in the aftermath she hears a few strangled groans through the phone, and she knows he's climaxing too, and she comes again just thinking about it.

She lies still, panting. Part of her mind tells her she just made a big mistake, but the rest of her mind tells it to shut up.

"Are you still there?" Ben's voice sounds almost normal, again. Almost.

"Yes. Wow. That was—pretty freaking awesome."

He chuckles, and she can picture his smile right now and suddenly feels lonely all over again because he's in Minnesota and she's still in Pawnee and no matter how much she wants to kiss him, she can't.

"Yep. Awesome is a good word for that." He takes a deep breath. "Promise me you won't drop out of the election?"

Of course he's still thinking about that. "I promise I won't drop out."

"Good."

God, she loves him. She smiles against her phone. "I guess Ann was right about the whole social phone call thing."

"She can be pretty smart, sometimes."

"Yes, she can." Leslie sighs. "So, we probably shouldn't make a habit out of this. Integrity, and all that." (Integrity doesn't feel all that important right now, but she knows it will in the morning.) 

He sighs. "Yeah. Integrity." He doesn't sound very committed to the ideal right now, either.

"Four more months. We just need to hang in there for four more months."

"We can do it. I know we can."

She takes a deep breath, wondering how she can possibly put into words how much she misses him, and how much she needs him, and how much he means to her, without actually saying the words I love you, because if that's out there the four month waiting period is only going to get more impossible than it already is. Or worse—he might not say it back. Finally, she says, "You know—you're my best friend."

He's quiet for a few seconds—just long enough for her to wonder if he doesn't get what she means, or if maybe he gets exactly what she means, but doesn't feel the same way back.

"I thought Ann was your best friend."

Ugh. He doesn't get it. "Yes—but there's more than one kind of best friend. And you're the kind of best friend that I want to have sex with. Ann isn't. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I actually made out with a girl once, in college. It was at a Sarah McLachlan concert, and she was a lovely redhead with a seat right next to mine, and we had a ton of fun flirting the whole time and everyone experiments during college, so it seemed like the thing to do—" Ben is laughing. And she gets that. She is rambling. Maybe she's drunker than she thought. "—but that's beside the point. Ann is one kind of best friend, and you're another kind. That's what I meant."

"Leslie—" says Ben, the promise of laughter still hanging in his voice, "you're my best friend, too."

They way he says it—so full of warmth, and humor, and emotion—she realizes that he does get it. He'd just been checking to make sure.

"Okay," she breathes out, just over a whisper. "Good."

"Good."

"Well . . ."

"God," he says. "Everyone must be wondering what I'm doing. I need to clean up and get back out there. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She hesitates for a moment, and then asks, "Have you told any of them about me?"

"I told my brother, when I was at his place for Thanksgiving."

"What does he think about all this?" She's not sure what normal people will make of their odd arrangement.

"Well, my brother and sisters all got married in their twenties, so I've been the black sheep of the family for a while now. My brother thinks it's pretty great that I finally found someone I want to commit to—even if it's a bizarre, masochistic kind of commitment. His words, not mine."

Leslie laughs. "Yes, there are definite masochistic overtones to this—whatever—that we're doing right now. I want to meet your brother."

"You will. Soon. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

He sighs again. "Merry Christmas, Leslie."

"Merry Christmas, Ben."

*

They're good all the way through January.

Well, not as good as Ann wants them to be. Ben's spending way more time in the Parks Department than he needs to. And the flirty banter is back up to the level it was at before they first started dating. And they're still texting—but only about a dozen times a day. At least Leslie's refrained from anymore social phone calls. (Not that she hasn't been tempted—very tempted).

Things get harder as Valentine's day approaches. Leslie feels like her "Galentine's Day" approach to the holiday has always been very healthy and fun, so she schedules the yearly event for all her girlfriends and starts making crafts for the gift bags. But part of her wishes that just this once she could have the silly, clichéd, romantic Valentine's Day that real couples have, with chocolate and flowers and a nice restaurant, and maybe even jewelry, instead of nothing but office banter and text messages and a brunch with her girlfriends.

Early in the morning, the day before Valentine's Day, after finishing the last of the photo-collage decoupage heart-shaped boxes for her Galentine's Day friends, she texts Ben. "Do you ever feel like doing something really cheesy and romantic just because society says you should? I do."

Because it's still a few hours before dawn, she doesn't expect him to answer right away. But when it's time to leave for work and he still hasn't replied, she starts to worry.

She feels tense and nervous by the time she gets to the office. Is she putting too much pressure on him? Maybe playing things cool this past month has him confused. Maybe she should have given into those urges for more "social phone calls."

As she pulls out the chair at her desk, she notices that one of her drawers is slightly open. She never would have left it that way.

Slowly, she pulls it all the way open.

On a plate inside her drawer sits a row of three chocolate cupcakes with white icing, decorated with pink letters—one on each cupcake—spelling out a simple word: YES.

She feels like crying, but Andy and April are coming in, so she manages to stay under control.

After devouring the first cupcake (it's a really good cupcake) she finally texts Ben again. "You are perfect and I want to get naked with you right now."

This time his reply comes right away. "You found the cupcakes."

"Yes. I'm serious about the naked thing."

"I know you are. Patience. 78 more days until election."

"77 too many."

"Be patient."

"You suck."

"You're welcome."

Even though she doesn't really have her heart in the Galentine's Day brunch an hour later, she still manages to have a nice time. Friends aren't a perfect substitute for the man she loves, but they're still really damn nice to have around.

*

The first Wednesday in March, Leslie goes to dinner with Barnes and three other campaign advisors. Though Leslie is in the mood for J.J.s, she lets her advisors choose, and they end up at an Italian restaurant.

The dinner meeting is going well, until, in the middle of a rant about people who value libraries over parks, Leslie's eyes drift to a booth on the other side of the restaurant and sees Ben, staring at her with a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look on his face. Sitting across from him is a slender, pretty brunette.

What the hell?

Leslie freezes in the middle of her sentence, her mouth hanging open. Her brain feels like mush. She can't think. She can't reason. She can only fixate on Ben suddenly looking back toward the woman he's with (his date?) and pretending he wasn't staring right at her just a moment ago.

"Leslie—are you all right?" asks Barnes.

She pulls her eyes back to her dinner companions, and coughs nervously. "Yes. Of course. I lost my train of thought. What was I saying?"

Over the next few minutes she sleepwalks through the conversation, and somehow agrees with one of her advisors that libraries really do serve an important function in the community. Then she sees Ben headed for the restrooms.

"Excuse me." She shoots to her feet. "I've, uh, got to hit the whizz palace. I'll be back in just a minute." She takes off toward the restrooms, barely noticing the incredulous looks on her advisors' faces.

She passes through the main restroom door to find herself in the small foyer with entrances to both the men's and women's restrooms. Ben is nowhere to be seen. She paces back and forth, waiting. He can't hide in there forever.

But she doesn't want to look like she's stalking him. Finally, she settles on hovering halfway in and halfway out of the women's room—that will give her the cover she needs.

At last, the men's room opens and Ben steps out.

Leslie stiffens her spine and steps out of the women's room just as he walks by.

"Oh my god—Ben! What a surprise!"

He raises his eyebrows and folds his arms across his chest. "Leslie—I know you saw me out there. So you followed me back here? I shouldn't be surprised."

"Followed you? I didn't follow you. I followed nature's urges, if you know what I mean."

"Leslie—" He looks nervous and frustrated and _is he cheating on her?_ But can you even call it cheating if they're not technically together? But he _promised her!_

"Who's your friend?" Leslie blurts out, before she can stop herself. "She's pretty. Is she nice? She looks like she might be nice."

"This isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like you're on a date." There. She said it.

He rubs his face in his hands. "Fine. Okay. So it is what it looks like."

This is worse than the skywriting. Worse than getting dumped in the shower. Even worse than getting ditched with a broken knee-cap. But she can't cry. Not here. Not now.

"Well. Fine. I guess we aren't technically together. So you're still free to play the field. Why should I stop you? Go. Go back to your lovely date and have a lovely time." She points at the door back out to the dining area, and tries to feel angry instead of heartbroken, because heartbroken will do her no good right now.

"I don’t want to be here, Leslie. I didn't want to go on this date. Chris set us up."

"Oh, that makes it just fine, then. How sweet of him. She looks perfect for you. I hope you'll be very happy together." She tries to leave—she can't stand being here with him for another second longer—but he grabs her arm.

"Hey!" She tries to shake him off.

"Leslie, just listen to me. I don't want to be with that woman—I don't want to date her."

"Why not? She's just your type," Leslie snaps.

"Because she's not you!" he barks back, still clutching her arm. He takes a deep breath. "Look, Chris has been trying to set me up literally every three weeks for the past year—god!" He shakes his hands in the air. "Now you've got me talking like him. The point is, I was running out of excuses, and people around city hall have been noticing how close we are. . ."

"People are noticing?" Crap.

"Yes!"

Double crap.

Ben continues, "So I thought it would be good for our cover if I was seen out dating other people, and when Chris offered to set me up again, I finally said yes. And I didn't tell you because I thought it would freak you out. Which it clearly does."

Leslie closes her eyes, trying to get a handle on her thoughts. 

Ben keeps talking. "I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea. I've been feeling like the biggest jerk all evening, because she really is a nice person and she doesn't deserve to be used like this. And just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse, you walked in with all your campaign pals. I came back here because I thought I was going to throw up."

Leslie opens her eyes again and looks up at Ben, and he really does look miserable and a little sick. "Okay. I don't hate you."

He runs his hand through his hair. "Good."

"But this really was a terrible idea."

"I know that now."

"Okay." So Ben isn't cheating on her. He just had a stupid plan. That's forgivable. Totally forgivable. But now they have bigger problems. "So you're sure people are noticing us together at city hall?"

He nods, looking glum. "Bob from the planning office saw us chatting after a meeting and asked me if there was anything going on between us. And the next day, Bonnie from Housing saw us eating lunch by the wildflower mural and told me we make a cute couple."

"This is bad. This is very bad."

"I know! That's why I panicked and tried this terrible idea."

"It was very sweet of you to try to take care of this for me, but you really should have told me about the problem first, before you screwed it up." This sort of thing takes planning, and strategizing—not just half-assed impulse decisions, which this date clearly was (wasn't it?).

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." She hesitates—but she just has to ask one more thing. She has to be sure. "So you really don't want to date that woman? You really aren't attracted to her?"

"No! I don't want to date her." He shakes his head, holding his hands out beseechingly. "God, Leslie—I wouldn't be going through all this craziness if you didn't mean the world to me. I don't want to date other people. I only want to be with you. I'm not doing all this because I'm a masochist—I'm doing it because I'm in love with you."

Her heart does a little flip, and she stops worrying about the other woman, or about people at work noticing them. He loves her. She thought he might, but now she knows. He loves her.

She must look a little dazed, or something, because Ben frowns a little. "Les—are you all right?"

"Yes." She grins. "Everything is great. We'll be just fine. Oh god, Ben—I love you, too. I really, really do."

His anxious expression melts away, to be replaced by one of his wonderful smiles, and then they're kissing each other (she doesn't know who initiated it, or if they somehow just melded together), and he's backing her up against the wall, threading his hands through her hair, and she's clinging to his shirt, holding him and tasting him for the first time in months and she doesn't want it to stop.

And then the door to the bathroom foyer opens and Leslie pushes Ben off of her with a yelp. 

It's only a waiter, who gives them a leering grin as he heads to the men's room. 

"Crap on a cockroach." Leslie frantically tries to fix her hair and straighten her blouse. "The Hindenburg is about to go up in flames."

"Yeah." He edges away from her, straightening his shirt. "We'd better get back out there before people start to think we've left."

"Yep. One at a time. You came back here first, so you should go out first."

"Okay. And—uh—we'll talk tomorrow about the whole people-noticing-us thing."

"Sounds great. Tomorrow." She nods. And they stand still, staring at each other, neither one moving.

"I don't want to go back to my date," he says.

"I don't want to go back to my meeting."

"But we have to, don't we?"

She nods. "Yeah. We do."

He nods back. And then swoops in for another brief kiss, his lips barely grazing hers. He flashes her a grin, and then heads back out to the dining area.

Leslie sighs, and leans back against the wall. "62 days," she whispers to herself. "Just hold it together for 62 more days. Oh, god, he loves me, and we still have to wait 62 days."

A few minutes later, Leslie goes back to her table, apologizing for taking so long. "I had to get someone to come do some cleaning in there. I'm very concerned about public health."

Fortunately, they don't pry for further details.

Ben and his "date" leave less than 20 minutes later, and the woman doesn't look too happy. Poor thing. She really does look nice. But she missed the boat on this one—he's taken. Better luck next time.

With that happy thought in her mind, Leslie manages to get through the rest of her dinner meeting.

Late that night, when she's pretty darn sure Ben will be alone in his room, she calls him.

It only takes two rings for him to answer.

"Hi."

"Hi," she says. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah. Did you want to talk about the people-noticing-us problem?"

"Not right now. That can still wait until tomorrow. Actually, I called to let you know that I'm wearing my presidential blazer. And—oops!—my button just popped open. And I don't have anything on underneath!" 

His breathy laugh comes through the phone, and she can picture she smile perfectly. "Well, Madame President," he says, "it sounds like you're in a difficult pickle. But as your chief of security, I think I can talk you through it."

Exactly what she was hoping to hear. She settles down onto her bed. "Oh, thank goodness you're here to help. What do I need to do first?"

It's a very good night.

*

Leslie and Ben agree to back off from their socialization in city hall. It really sucks, but they can't afford to draw unwanted attention to their friendship right now. Not with the election right around the corner. At least they have text messages. Leslie's gone from a dozen or so a day to five or more an hour. But if it's the only way they can communicate on a regular basis, then by god she's going to do it.

Leslie still hangs pangs of conscious regarding the integrity issue on a pretty regular basis. They've slipped up way too many times for her to feel completely comfortable saying that there's nothing going on. But, on the other hand, no one has even come close to asking her about Ben—or dating in general, for that matter. Maybe she'll get lucky and her personal life will simply never come up.

By the end of March, informal surveys of Pawnee residents indicate that Leslie has a strong lead. She intends to hang onto it.

As she and her advisors and volunteers rev up the campaign, she sees less and less of Ben in person. Which makes it harder to resist the urge for more late-night phone calls. Leslie rationalizes that now that they aren't drawing attention to their relationship at work anymore, there's no reason why anyone will ask her about Ben in the first place, so she won't even have to lie. Under those circumstances, why shouldn't she indulge herself a little? She's even starting to wonder if a few top-secret in-person rendezvous might be possible.

The first week of April the last of her pre-election worries is finally solved—she lines up a commitment for a new job after the election. She's been worried for months that it would be hard to find new employment after leaving the Parks Department, and the financial stipend for serving on city council (a part-time position) won't be anywhere close to enough to live on.

She's so excited when she gets the news about the new job that when she sees Ben in the hall at work she can't help herself—she rushes up to tell him the good news in person. She's quite literally bouncing up and down when she gets to him.

"I got a job! I got a job! I got a job!"

He knows exactly how worried she's been, and his answering grin is everything she hoped for. "You did?"

She claps her hands. "Yes! And it's perfect. Perfectly perfect."

He looks like he's about to start bouncing up and down along with her. "What is it?"

"You're looking at the new Public Promotions and Guest Services Director for the Pawnee City Zoo!" It's an odd catch-all kind of job, like many of the administrative positions at the small zoo, and it includes PR, planning and supervising any special events, taking charge of any and all advertising, and managing and training the employees who work the front gates, information kiosk, and stroller/wheelchair rental booth.

"Oh wow! So you're replacing that guy who had the nervous breakdown?" The former holder of her new position had tried to pull a stunt in the style of the late television host Steve Irwin, and ended up getting his left toes bitten off by one of the alligators. After that he was so afraid of animals that he rarely came out of his office and refused to publicly promote zoo attendance. 

"Yes. The board of directors finally forced him out last month. And even though the zoo is technically part of the city government, all financial decisions and hiring and firing are managed by an independent board of directors, so my new job won't be in conflict with sitting on City Council, or," she lowers her voice seductively, "having personal relationships with other city employees."

"You're right. This is perfectly perfect. Congratulations." And because they have a perfectly legitimate reason, they share a cordial congratulatory hug right there in the hall, and Leslie doesn't give a damn who sees them. 

"I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner," she says as they step back from their hug. "I love the zoo! It's my third favorite place in Pawnee—right after city hall and J.J.'s. Plus, they'll let me work a flexible schedule to fit around my city council duties. It feels like my whole life is coming together just right—like everything is falling perfectly into place."

Leslie really should know better than to say things like that—she's bound to jinx herself.

At that very moment Shauna Malwae-Tweep appears at her elbow. "Leslie—I was just looking for you. We had an interview scheduled, didn't we?"

"Oh god." Leslie's jaw drops, and Ben takes a few steps back from her, though both of them know they were standing way too close together, and Shauna probably saw them hug from down the hall. "I'm so sorry, Shauna. I was caught up in sharing a bit of good news with my colleague, Mr. Wyatt, here." Ben nods, trying to look professional, but mostly looking constipated.

"Um," says Leslie, "let's head back to my office, shall we?" Time to get away from Ben as fast as possible.

The interview starts out as a pretty typical political puff piece, thank goodness. But after the first fifteen minutes or so, Shauna's questions take on a decidedly personal slant, and she starts asking about how well Pawnee citizens will accept a single, childless woman as one of their leaders, and whether or not Leslie has an active dating life. Things go from bad to worse when Shauna asks: "So—I noticed that interesting exchange between you and your friend in the hall there. Ben Wyatt, isn't it? Is there something going on there? A romantic interest, maybe?"

For a moment, Leslie feels the urge to stand up and run away. Belize is very nice this time of year. But after a few cleansing breaths (Ann has been making her practice those), she thinks of a way to answer that will keep her integrity intact—mostly. But she'll have to tread cautiously.

"Shauna—I'd like to take things off the record for a few minutes."

Shauna's eyebrows shoot up. Leslie can tell that Shauna wants to go after whatever story she'd just stumbled across. But Leslie thinks she knows how to talk her down.

"Off the record?"

"Yes." Leslie forces her voice into a soothing tone. "I'd like to chat for a minute, girl to girl. About matters of the heart."

She can tell that Shauna's interest is piqued. "Okay. Off the record."

Leslie glances down at Shauna's micro-recorder. "Did you turn that off?"

Shauna pushes a button on the recorder. "Off now."

Leslie's hand darts forward to grab the recorder. "Let's just make sure." She fiddles with a few buttons until she's certain it's finally off. "Okay. Officially off the record."

Shauna grins, a predatory glint in her eyes. "So, what exactly did you want to chat about?"

Leslie has a feeling that Shauna is a romantic at heart, and she's determined to do her best to exploit that. "Have you ever found yourself falling for someone that is completely off-limits? Impossible? Out of reach? I think it happens to most of us at some point in our lives."

Shauna nods knowingly. "Yes. I've had an impossible crush or two."

"So you know how heart wrenching and frustrating it can be to have feelings for someone and not being able to act on those feelings."

"I do." Shauna taps the desk with her finger tips. Leslie can tell she's itching to turn that recorder on again. Not a chance.

"Well, Shauna. I'm afraid I've found myself in that very position over the past few months."

"With Ben Wyatt." Shauna wears a knowing smile.

"Exactly," says Leslie, hoping like hell the Shauna is the kind of reporter who respects a request of "off-the-record."

Leslie continues. "After working closely with him for nearly two years, I've developed feelings for him that I can't act on, because that would violate government policy. It's very important to me that _no one_ gets the impression that Mr. Wyatt and I are involved in any kind of romantic relationship. Even rumors of that sort of thing could put both of our jobs at risk, not to mention the damage it could do to my campaign. That's why I'd like to ask you to keep this between you and me. Balancing a career and a social life is hard enough without the press getting involved. You won't put any of this in your article—will you?" Okay. No real lies there. Just evading the truth. Leslie crosses her fingers under the desk. Please let this work. Please please please please . . .

"So there's really nothing going on between you?" asks Shauna.

Crap. "I hope that there will be, someday. But right now it's simply not an option." There. That wasn't exactly a lie—only kind of a lie.

Shauna nods. "Okay. I won't mention anything about this in the article."

Yes! "Thank you so much for your understanding, Shauna."

Shauna reaches out and puts a hand on Leslie's knee, patting it reassuringly. "I know how you feel. I've had a thing for a married man for a few months now, and I'm not the type to act on that sort of thing until he's officially split with his wife and moved out. But it's just not happening. So I'm still spinning in the wind. It really sucks—I feel for you."

Holy crap—her hasty cover up is actually working. "Thank you, Shauna. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. And if it helps, the way he was looking at you, I think you have a real shot at him once you're not working for the city anymore."

"You really think so?" Leslie beams. Suddenly Shauna feels like an ally, rather than an adversary.

"I do. Good luck with everything." She stood to go, collecting her micro-recorder.

"Good luck to you, too, Shauna."

Once Shauna is gone, Leslie types a hasty email to Ben explaining their close call. Just before hitting send, she pauses. She and Ben have been too reckless. Maybe it's time to call in extra help. She adds Ann's address to the email and then sends it out.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Just over an hour later, Ann arrives at Leslie's office door, a frown on her face.  
  
"Oh boy," says Leslie.  
  
"Yeah. You're in trouble, and I'm here to get your butt back in line before you blow this election." Ann closes the door and sits down beside Leslie.  
  
"Look, I handled the Shauna situation—"  
  
"No, you _think_ you handled the Shauna situation. We won't know for sure until we see the article. And it's not just that. Today, Chris asked me to talk to you about your texting addiction. He even gave me some pamphlets on how to overcome text-messaging addiction to give to you, and suggested that we start a text-message-addicts support group to help you and his dear friend Ben, who also seems to have succumbed to that tempting technological addiction. I'm pretty sure he's giving Ben this same talk right now. You two are seriously out of control." Ann folds her arms, a stern look on her face.  
  
Even though she kind of knew this was coming, Leslie feels a little defensive. "We are not out of control. We've just slipped up a little—that's all."  
  
"Texting fifty times a day is more than _a little_. Flirting so much in the halls that a reporter notices is not _a little_. And I'm guessing there's more where that came from. Now spill. I need to know how big this mess is so we can start cleaning up."  
  
Leslie sighs. She wanted extra help, and now that help is here. Fine. "A few other people around city hall noticed us flirting and mentioned it. But we've tried to tone it down."  
  
"Uh-huh." Ann looks unconvinced. "What else?"  
  
"We've broken that late-night phone call rule a few times."  
  
"Oh, god."  
  
"And we kind of ran into each other a restaurant a few weeks ago—we were there with other people, and we totally didn't plan it—but we ended up making out a little back by the restrooms."  
  
"Leslie!"  
  
"I know, I know. That one was bad."  
  
"All of it's bad, Leslie. If you keep pushing the boundaries of what you can get away with, eventually you'll slip up. And this close to the election you have no time to recover from that kind of mistake. You need to stop. Everything. Right now."  
  
Leslie agrees with some of what Ann has to say—if they get caught now, there really will be no time to bounce back. The election will be lost before it happens. But the chances of them getting caught are so small. "Everything? Isn't that a little extreme? I mean, I get that we'll have to stay away from each other in public, but a few texts now and then don't seem like that big a deal. And as for the phone calls, as long as Shauna's article doesn't mention anything too bad, I don't see why anyone else will go prying, so even if we still—you know—I won't have to lie about it. It just won't come up."  
  
Ann shakes her head. "This is what I mean by _pushing the boundaries_. What if Shauna's not the only one who starts prying into your private life? Reporters get off on that sort of thing, whether they know there's dirt to find or not. You always said you didn't want to lie your way into office—"  
  
"God. Fine. Yes. You're right. No more phone calls."  
  
Ann wags her finger at Leslie. "And no sexting. No sexy emails. No notes. Nothing."  
  
"Okay, okay! I'll live like a nun, will that make you happy?" Ugh. It's absurd. But she knows Ann is just trying to take care of her.  
  
"Yes. It's only for a month. You'll survive."  
  
"34 days," Leslie mutters.  
  
Ann rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Do you want to win this election?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you want to win it the right way, without lying?"  
  
Leslie clenches her fists. This is getting hard. But integrity matters. "Yes. Yes, I do."  
  
"Are you willing to live without Ben for 34 days if that's what it takes to solve this problem?"  
  
Leslie puts her face in her hands. "Ungh." This hurts. This really, really hurts. And they might be just fine. There's a very good chance no one will pry into her private life at all. "Okay. I'll agree to all of this—but only after reading Shauna's article. I really think I won her over, and if the article is nothing but a puff piece, I'll still back off from hanging out with Ben at work and cut back on the texts a little. But that's it. On the other hand, if there's anything damaging in the article—" She sighs. "Well, then I'll agree to all of it. Is that good enough for you?"  
  
Ann's lips are tight, but she nods. "Fine. We'll wait for the article. But be careful, Leslie. I don't want you getting hurt over this."  
  
"I know Ann. That's why I love you."  
  
*  
  
The article doesn't mention Ben, but it does spend a lot of time talking about the difficulties faced by single women who want to pursue both politics and social lives. Barnes and Leslie's other advisors are very concerned—they've gone to great lengths to keep her marital status (or lack thereof) a non-issue. Suddenly, it's front and center. Other reporters are already calling for follow-up interviews on the human-interest topic of how working women manage their love lives.  
  
Barnes slams the paper down on the table of the conference room where they're meeting. "This is exactly what we didn't want to happen. Studies show that older married people are less likely to vote for single women with no children. They'd rather vote for someone more like themselves."  
  
Leslie taps her pad-folio with her pen, working out some of the nervous energy that threatens to make her explode. "Well—it might appeal to the youth vote."  
  
"The youth vote doesn't turn out for local elections, Leslie. We've told you that a million times," says another of her advisors.  
  
"Yeah, yeah." She takes a deep breath. "So what do we do?"  
  
As a group they work out a new strategy of focusing on Leslie's outreach to Pawnee families—the children's concerts, the festivals, the holiday events, and all the other family focused programs she's help build. They set up more media events, more public meetings, and schedule more canvassing. The rest of April starts looking even busier than it already did.  
  
And, on top of it all, Leslie's advisors remind her again and again to play it safe socially for the next few weeks—no more trips to The Bulge or the Snakehole Lounge. No going out in public alone with single men ("But I'm friends with lots of single men!" Leslie objects. Her advisors don't care—because, according to them—the main voting bloc in local elections wouldn't give a fig whether the men she spent time with were friends or romantic prospects. They would automatically assume the worst.)  
  
By the end of the meeting, Leslie is having serious qualms about her relationship with Ben. Maybe Ann is right. Maybe she really does need to put things on hold for the rest of the month.  
  
That evening she drives up to the Wamapoke camp grounds and goes on a long walk in the woods, looking out at the views of her beloved Pawnee. This is the place she's wanted to build up and serve for her whole life—the place she's always wanted to win her first public office.  
  
She's also always wanted to fall in love and live happily ever after with a man who wouldn't mind being the "First Gentleman" to her "Madame President."  
  
And right now she's on the verge of having both of those dreams come true. But only if she gets her act together right now, before she screws up and ruins everything.  
  
Leslie has two choices: either she can resign from the Parks Department tomorrow so that dating Ben is finally okay, or she can cut off contact with Ben for the next 33 days to focus exclusively on the election.  
  
The choice is obvious. Quitting her job to be with a man will hurt her in pretty much every demographic (not to mention she hasn't found a suitable replacement for herself, yet). While redoubling her campaign efforts will do nothing but help. Ann was right; she'll have to go on a cold-turkey diet—one month of no more Ben.  
  
It sucks. It really sucks. But Ben was the one who told her all those months ago that helping her win was more important to him than talking to her every day. He'll understand. He'll support her decision. That doesn't make it any easier.  
  
When she gets home, she sits at her desk and writes him a long letter, explaining everything. At the end of the letter, she pours her heart out to him:  
  
 _"I hate this. And I know you'll hate this, too. But I can't think of any other way to make everything work.  
  
"I love you, and one month without you isn't going to change that. In fact, by the time we can finally be together I'll miss you so much you'll have a hard time getting me to leave you alone.  
  
"Just give me this one month. One month to focus on nothing but the election. No distractions. No sneaking around. Nothing to hide. Nothing to lie about. If you give me this one month, after it's all over I promise that I'll be 100% yours for as long as you want me (which I hope is a really long time). It'll be hard, but I know we can do it. And finally being together in the open will be our reward at the end.  
  
"I love you,  
  
"Leslie  
  
"P.S. Burn this after reading it. I don't want it to fall into the wrong hands. (Or you could eat it, but that might give you indigestion—I'm sure they use all kinds of chemical dyes on this paper.)"_  
  
*  
  
In the morning, Leslie gives the letter in a sealed envelope to Ann. She doesn't dare deliver it herself—it will be too tempting to give into the urge for a goodbye kiss.  
  
Before heading to Ben's office, Ann pulls a little notebook out of her bag and hands it to Leslie. "I got this for you."  
  
"What is it?" It just looks like a notebook—nothing special.  
  
"It's your Ben book. Whenever you find yourself wanting to text him, or call him, or go talk to him, or make out with him, or whatever, you can write it down in the notebook. And when your month is over, you can give it to him so he knows how much you were thinking of him. I got one for Ben, too."  
  
Leslie's heart swells, and she clutches the notebook to her chest. "Aww, Ann. This is so sweet. Thank you. You're the most thoughtful, beautiful nurse and best friend ever."  
  
Ann gives her a big hug, and leaves to go deliver the letter.  
  
Leslie tries not to think about how much the next month is going to be, and gets to work on her speech for a campaign event in two days.  
  
An hour later, Ann comes back with a soft smile on your face. She holds out an envelope to Leslie. "He made me wait while he read your letter. And then he made me wait some more while he wrote you back. But he made me promise not to wait while you read this one, because he said that turning me into your message girl, carrying letters back and forth between your offices, would kind of violate the principle of staying away from each other until after the election."  
  
God, he's sweet. "Thank you." She takes the letter, itching to rip it open.  
  
Ann nods knowingly. "I'll go and let you read this in private."  
  
After Ann closes the door behind her, Leslie tears open the envelope and unfolds the single sheet of paper.  
  
 _"I kind of knew this was coming when I read that article and only got two texts from you yesterday. In fact, I'm kind of surprised you didn't make this choice a long time ago. But I'm also glad you didn't, because I really like having you around, and I'm really going to miss spending time with you over the next month.  
  
"But it'll be worth it to see the look on your face when they swear you in as a councilwoman.  
  
"I love you. Nothing is going to make me stop loving you. And loving you means loving your dreams, and loving your city. And I do. I won't do anything to stand in your way. But I will be really happy once this election is over and we can actually touch each other again.  
  
"Oh—and you don't need to keep your promise to be mine 100%. I know a part of you will always belong to Pawnee first and foremost. I knew that from the first day I met you, and I'm cool with it. I don't mind sharing.  
  
"I'll talk to you in 32 days. Now go win this thing.  
  
"Love,  
  
"Ben"_  
  
She's glad Ann isn't here to see her shedding a few tears, because Leslie usually ends up crying more when people try to comfort her than she does when she's alone. Funny how that works.  
  
And she knows she ought to burn the letter, but instead she tucks it inside her new Ben-book so she can read it anytime she needs a boost.  
  
Then, she gets back to work.  
  
*  
  
Between her amped-up campaign, interviewing potential replacements for herself in the Parks Department, and writing multiple, intricately detailed, instruction manuals for her replacement to study, Leslie only finds time to miss Ben two or three times an hour. (Okay, sometimes four or five).  
  
She gives herself a chance once an hour, on the hour (unless she's in a public meeting), to pull out her Ben book and make a few quick notes. She writes down whatever she would have texted to him. Or whatever she would have talked with him about. Or whatever she wants to do to his cute mouth and yummy body. And then she puts the book away and gets back to business.  
  
No one in the office questions the fact that she sets up a huge calendar in her office, and puts a big red heart on election day, and crosses off each passing day with a black X. After all, she loves Pawnee and she loves elections. They don't need to know the other reason for the heart.  
  
Just as her advisors had hoped, after about a week and a half of vigorous campaigning, and putting forth their own talking points, the fervor over the "single woman with a social life" issue dies down to almost nothing.  
  
Things are still looking good for Leslie's prospects. Very good.  
  
So good, in fact, that she keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something just _has_ to go wrong. Something always _does_ go wrong. Her dreams never work out like this—success is a struggle for her. It's not supposed to be this easy.  
  
Her anxiety grows with every passing day. With each event that goes off without a hitch, and every interview that plays to her strengths without mentioning her weaknesses, and every day that she and Ben do nothing more than exchange encouraging smiles as they pass in the halls, she becomes more and more frazzled.  
  
At lunch one day (13 days until the election), Ann tells Leslie that she's been particularly crazy-eyed and manic lately.  
  
Leslie knits her brows and stops eating her awful salad (god, she hates salad) and grabs her brownie instead. "What do mean, manic? And crazy-eyed? What's that? Why would you even say that? Are other people calling me crazy-eyed? There's nothing crazy here. Whatever. Just idle, mean-spirited gossip. Who cares? Not me. Who called me crazy-eyed, Ann?" She pounds the table so hard a grape tomato leaps right out of her salad and rolls to the floor.  
  
Ann holds her hands out like she's trying to soothe a rabid dog. "Calm down. This is exactly what I mean. You are way too tense and stressed out. You need to take a day off and relax or you're going to explode."  
  
Whatever. Ann has no idea what she's talking about. "You take a day off, or _you'll_ explode," Leslie sasses back. Ann frowns, and Leslie notices other people in the courtyard staring at them. "Umm—sorry about that," she mutters. Maybe she _is_ wound a little tight.  
  
After that she lets Ann force her to take the afternoon off. Maybe Ann is right. Maybe she does need it.  
  
Ann takes her out to waffles at J.J.'s, and then takes to her see a massage therapist that Ann knows through the hospital. Leslie is normally reluctant to let strangers put their hands all over her, but since this guy is someone real doctors send their patients to (instead of some random hack with no credentials but a padded bench and few scented candles) she gives in and gets the massage.  
  
It's actually way more relaxing than she expects, but as her muscles begin to unknot she starts to remember all the times Ben gave her massages when they were dating, and how awesome he was at it. And after Ben's massages she always got the ultimate tension-releaser—some awesome sex. By the end of the massage that single thought has completely taken over her brain, and even writing it down in her Ben-book doesn't make it go away.  
  
*  
  
The next day, Leslie holds a "Meet the Candidate" event in the picnic pavilion at Johnson's Ridge Park. She still feels completely on edge, and she's obsessing about sex with Ben. She's had plenty of dry spells in her past, but this one is the hardest because she knows there's an amazing guy who loves her and she loves him and they still can't do it, and it's killing her. All morning she started fantasizing various ways to catch him alone and seduce him. He couldn't say no to her if he knew how much she needed him. And no one has been asking any questions about her dating life for the past week. They can get away with it—she knows they can.  
  
Partway through the event, Leslie glances up from the citizen she just finished speaking with, and sees Ben. He's standing on the edge of the small crowd, leaning against one of the pillars edging the pavilion, wearing his "Knope 2012" button, and smiling at her.  
  
Instantly her mood perks up, and she soars through the rest of the event, even though a of few of the citizens do ask rather frustrating questions.  
  
When things are wrapping up, she looks back to where he was standing, but he's already gone.  
  
Later that night she gets a text from him. "Did great today. Knew you could do it. Keep it up."  
  
She texts back: "Did Ann tell you I'm having a hard time?"  
  
He replies: "She didn't have to. But don't worry, you're strong. The strongest. I know you can do this."  
  
So maybe the messages are not as good at relieving tension as sex, but they won't cause potential campaign disasters, either. And Ben is right. She _is_ strong, and she _can_ do this.  
  
Ben follows the same pattern for her next few campaign events. He shows up a little late, and leaves a little early. But his presence and his smile bolster her confidence, and keep her going strong. It means the world to have him there, even if they can't be together afterwards.  
  
She does a lot of writing in her Ben-book that week.  
  
  
*  
  
Over the final week leading up to the election, all of Leslie's nervous tension still makes it hard for her to sleep, so she does what she always does when she's up most of the night—she bakes homemade goodies and makes crafts.  
  
The parks department is inundated with her treats. Chocolate chip cookies, lemon bars, blueberry muffins, fudge, and even homemade red-cherry lollipops in the shape of cardinals (Indiana's state bird. She found the candy molds on e-bay). And no one mentions anything when she takes a few of each down to the city manager's office. After all, Chris and Ben have been some her campaign's most enthusiastic supporters.  
  
She also brings in "pre-election presents" for all her friends. She gives April a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt filled with Leslie's own margin-notes. She gives Andy a black baseball cap embroidered with the words: "Pawnee Secret Service." For Jerry and Donna she hand-paints some coffee mugs. Ron is harder to make gifts for, so Leslie finally settles on sewing him a grilling apron with pockets for all his grilling tools. She knows it's not ideal, but she'll come up with something better later, when she has more time to think.  
  
Her last gifts are ready Friday morning, and she carries them down to the City Manager's office first thing, before taking most of the rest of the day off for campaign events. She hands one wrapped package to Ben, and another to Chris (because, really, Chris has been a huge supporter of her goals. Plus, this way it won't look weird just giving a present to Ben).  
  
Leslie rocks on her heels with barely repressed excitement as they unwrap their packages. Ben takes his time, carefully peeling up the tape and gently unfolding the paper. Clearly he knows how much his slowness infuriates her. Fortunately Chris is of the "rip it open fast" school of thought when it comes to opening gifts. Ben is still unfolding paper when Chris has his box popped open. He grins enthusiastically as he pulls out two of the items inside.  
  
"Golf club covers! Did you sew these yourself? And the embroidery?"  
  
She nods. "I did."  
  
Chris puts on his _deeply touched_ expression. "Leslie—these are literally the nicest handmade gifts I have ever had the pleasure of receiving. At least since my grandmother passed away. I will treasure them. And think of you every time I go golfing. I love golfing. Who could dislike a sport that allows you to enjoy nature and participate in deep conversation while playing? Right, Ben?"  
  
Ben's mouth quirks into a smile as he finally pops open his own box and pulls out a similar set of club covers—but not identical. Chris's club covers are in a shiny blue fabric, embroidered with the phrase: "Live Your Dreams." Ben's, on the other hand, are made of a soft black fleece emblazoned with stars and planets (Leslie thinks the fabric was intended for children's pajamas, but she doesn't care) and embroidered with the phrase: "Live Long and Prosper."  
  
"Right," says Ben in response to Chris's question, but his smile is all for Leslie.  
  
"Live long and prosper," says Chris. "What a wonderful, eloquent, expressive saying. Is that from Eastern philosophy?"  
  
Ben smirks a little. "Actually, it's a traditional Vulcan phrase of salutation or leave-taking from Star Trek."  
  
Chris's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?" He looks to Leslie.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Remarkable," he replies. "Ben has been praising that franchise to me for years, but I haven't yet watched it. But if it contains insights on this level, perhaps it's worth investing some time in."  
  
"You really should." Leslie nods gravely. She's actually not a big Star Trek fan (though she did enjoy the one with the whales), but she's perfectly happy to back Ben up on this one as long as he keeps smiling at her like that. She's very close to kissing him in front of Chris right now.  
  
However, that would bring on the much dreaded Hindenburg-level disaster, so she manages to restrain herself.  
  
Ben doesn't make it easy when he sends her off with a handshake and leans in to whisper that he'll thank her properly after the election. Apparently she's not the only who's missing the physical aspect of their relationship in a serious way.  
  
She very nearly texts him to meet her in one of the supply closets after she leaves his office. Only the thought of her interview with Joan Callamezzo later in the day keeps her in check.  
  
  
*  
  
Leslie's final pre-election appearance on Pawnee Today goes slightly better than her usual interviews with Joan, right until the end. She should have known something bad was coming from the maniacal glint in Joan's eyes.  
  
"One final issue to discuss with you, Leslie. A few weeks ago there was a great deal of discussion going on regarding how you intend to carry on a political career and date at the same time," says Joan.  
  
Leslie gets a knot in her gut, but keeps her smile bright. "Yes, that discussion did happen. Achieving the balance between career and social life is something all women who work full-time have to deal with, particularly when they're single. I'm sure you can relate."  
  
Joan titters and reluctantly agrees. "One particularly interesting item came to my attention during all the hubbub about your private life," she says with a wicked grin. "Apparently, there's a rumor circulating city hall that you've been violating the city government policy against dating your co-workers. Exactly how many of them have you been dating?"  
  
Leslie feels a moment of panic. Oh god, oh god, oh god. But then her mind processes what Joan said: _rumor. . . dating_. Okay. She can handle this.  
  
"Well, Joan, I think it's unfortunate that small-minded people always seem to feel the need to spread unfounded rumors when confronted by strong, ambitious women. It's a sad commentary on our society."  
  
"True," says Joan, "however—"  
  
"Yes," interrupts Leslie. "I knew you wouldn't let me off that easy. So, to respond to the contents of this particular rumor, I'll say that while I have many dear male friends among my co-workers, I can say with utmost honesty that I am not r—" she cuts herself off from saying _romantically involved_ just in the nick of time, because that would absolutely be a lie, "not dating _any_ of them, and anyone who says otherwise is either misinformed, or is maliciously trying to damage my character. Again—a very sad commentary. I look forward to the day when strong, powerful women can succeed in our society without attracting this kind of shameful rumor-mongering. Don't you, Joan?"  
  
Nailed it. Joan has no choice but to agree.  
  
Later in the day her advisors gush about how well she handled the ambush.  
  
"That sound bite is amazing," says one. "It'll get plenty of re-play on the local news over weekend. It's the perfect way to lead up to the election."  
  
That evening Leslie sits in front of her computer and composes an email to send to both Ben and Ann.  
  
 _"It felt wonderful to be able to answer Joan with my integrity intact. No lies necessary. And I couldn't have done it without the two of you.  
  
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart."_  
  
And not long after sending it, she follows up with a text just to Ben: "You know I love you, don't you?"  
  
He replies: "Yes but I don't think I'll ever get sick of hearing it. Or saying it. I love you too."  
  
4 more days. She just has to get through 4 more days.  
  
*  
  
Leslie holds her final big campaign event on Sunday afternoon in Ramsett park. Andy is grilling hot dogs to give away to attendees, and April and another volunteer are manning the cotton candy and snow cone stands that Sweetums donated for the event. After giving a short speech, Leslie circulates among the crowd shaking hands and answering questions. If the free food and friendly smiles don't earn her a few more votes, she doesn't know what will.  
  
Like always, over the last few weeks, Ben is in attendance, proudly wearing her campaign button. But, unlike the other events, this time he walks up to her while she's in between clumps of attendees.  
  
"Great event, Leslie," he says, reaching out to shake her hand.  
  
They hold onto each other's hands for a little too long, and Leslie is almost past caring if anyone notices. Seriously—at this point does it even matter?  
  
"Thanks for coming to all of these," she says softly. "It really helped, having you here for me."  
  
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he says in that voice that makes her melt a little. "Look," he continues, "I just wanted to say that no matter what the outcome is on Tuesday, I'm really proud of you, and of everything you've accomplished. And I'll stand by you, and be there for you, no matter what happens—no matter what you choose to do."  
  
"Thanks," she says, slightly puzzled. Does he doubt that she'll win? Or doubt her commitment to him? But she doesn't have time to ask, because a few more citizens come up to speak with her and he nods a quiet goodbye, slipping away before she can tell him not to go.  
  
She does her best to focus on keeping her message focused and upbeat for the rest of the event, but his words nag at her mind.  
  
Just before the end of the event, Ted Wilson, one of the zoo directors, comes up to say hello.  
  
"Great event, here, Leslie. I can't wait until we have you bringing this kind of organization and enthusiasm to our little zoo."  
  
She grins and shakes his hand. "I look forward to it, Ted."  
  
He chuckles. "Now we just need to make sure you win this damned election—if you don’t, I'm sure that scoundrel Swanson will find a way to strong-arm you into staying with the Parks Department, and then we'll be back to square one over at the zoo."  
  
"Well, you don't need to worry. I have every intention of winning."  
  
"Good for you," says Ted, patting her on the back before taking his leave.  
  
As Leslie helps Andy and April clean up, her conversations with Ted and Ben percolate in her mind. For the first time in six months she lets herself think the unthinkable: What if she doesn't win?  
  
*  
  
Leslie's practically worn a path into her living room carpet from pacing before she gives up on getting any rest Sunday night, and drives over to Ann's house.  
  
She raps frantically on Ann's door for several minutes before a very bleary-eyed Ann opens the door. "I don't know why I bothered going to bed," mutters Ann as she lets Leslie in. "I should've known you'd turn up."  
  
Leslie doesn't know why Ann seems so peeved—it's only one o'clock. There's still plenty of hours to sleep after they talk.  
  
"What if I lose, Ann?" she blurts out once she's inside. "What if I lose?"  
  
Ann flops down on the couch as Leslie starts pacing. "You're polling way ahead. You're not going to lose."  
  
"But what if I do? What will I do about my job? What will I do about Ben?"  
  
"Oh. So that's what this is about."  
  
Leslie stops, glaring down at Ann, and shakes her hands. "Yes! Ted Wilson from the zoo thinks I'll keep my job with the Parks Department if I don't win. And why shouldn't I? I love parks. And I love my job. I've given nearly a decade of my life to that department, and everyone there is like family to me. Even Jerry. But if I don't quit, I still can't be with Ben!"  
  
She's certain by now that this is what Ben was talking about. He doesn't think she'll leave her job for him, either. And he has good reason to think that. After all, she wasn't willing to give up her job the first time they were together. Why should things be any different, now?  
  
Because she loves him. That's why.  
  
But she loves her job, too.  
  
But she's willing to give it up to serve Pawnee in elected office. Doesn't she love Ben as much as she loves Pawnee?  
  
On the other hand, doesn't _he_ love her enough to give up _his_ job for their relationship?  
  
"Why shouldn't Ben be the one to quit? Why does it have to be me?" she shouts.  
  
Ann rubs her eyes and puts her feet up. "Because you're going to win the election, and then you'll have to quit anyway."  
  
"But what if I don't win?"  
  
"You will win."  
  
"Ugh! But what if I don't!"  
  
Ann drops her face into her hands. "This is ridiculous, Leslie." She looks back up. "If you're so worried, why don't you call Ben and ask _him_ what you should do if you lose. I'm not the one you'll be dating—or wanting to date—or whatever. He is."  
  
Leslie's eyes go wide. She never even thought of that. "Am I allowed to call him now?"  
  
"If it'll get you to let me sleep tonight, absolutely, yes, you're allowed to call him."  
  
"Fine." Leslie pulls her phone out of her pocket. "I'll call him."  
  
Leslie thinks the phone is about to go to voicemail when Ben finally answers. "Leslie?" His voice is groggy. "What's going on?"  
  
"What if I lose?!" she shouts into the phone. "What will we do?"  
  
"You're not going to lose," he says.  
  
"Argh! I wish people would stop saying that. Answer the question. What will we do if I lose?" She starts pacing again.  
  
"Um." He coughs a little, clearing the sleep out of his throat. "I guess that's up to you."  
  
She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. "What do you mean, it's up to me?"  
  
"Well, if you still want to be together—"  
  
"I do!" She stamps her foot in emphasis. Now is hardly the time for Ben to get all insecure.  
  
"Ok." His voice perks up a little. "Good. Anyway, uh, since that's the case, it means one of us will still have to quit working for the city. And I want you to make that choice."  
  
"But—" Her jaw hangs open a little, and she stares out Ann's front window trying to get a handle on what Ben is saying. "Why should I get to make that choice? Why are you dumping this on me?"  
  
Ben's sigh is audible over the phone. "I could probably explain this better if I hadn't been asleep two minutes ago. Um. I just think that, uh, you care more about your job than I do. So if you decide you'll be happier staying with the Parks Department, I'll support you. And I'll resign and start looking for other work."  
  
"You would do that for me?" This just what she'd been talking about with Ann, but hearing it from Ben—unprompted—brings moisture welling in her eyes.  
  
"Yes. Of course I'd do that. I mean, I don't really _want_ to. Not in this economy. Looking for another job will suck. But I'm willing to. Look, Leslie—this city and your job are the center of your life. But they're not the center of mine. You are. And I'm willing to do what it takes to keep you there."  
  
Her voice catches in her throat. "Ben—I—I don't know what to say." God. What does it mean that he's willing to give up everything to be with her? The center of his life? Holy crap.  
  
"You don't have to say anything," he replies. "Don't worry too much about it. I'm still pretty sure you're going to win, and then we won't even have to worry about this issue."  
  
"Yeah," she forces out through her thick-feeling throat. "Yeah. You're right. I shouldn't worry about this until we know the results of the election."  
  
"Exactly. You should stop worrying and go to bed. You have a few big days coming up—you need your rest."  
  
"Okay." Leslie sighs. "Thanks. You're right. I'll go home and let Ann sleep."  
  
"You're at Ann's house?"  
  
"Where else would I be at a time like this?" Seriously—he should know better than to ask questions like this by now.  
  
"Yes. Go home. Let her sleep. And you get some sleep, too. Everything will seem better in the morning."  
  
Leslie reluctantly agrees and leaves a grateful Ann behind and heads home. She paces her living room again for a few hours, pondering Ben's declaration of how much he's willing to sacrifice to be with her. Something about it bothers her. Not that she isn't happy—she is. After all, that's exactly what she told Ann she wanted. So why does it feel a little off? Why does it nag at her conscience, making her feel selfish and guilty? If this relationship with him is going to work, shouldn't she be able to give as much as she gets? And how can she do that when he's ready to give so damn much?  
  
That's when it hits her—from the very start Ben has been putting her dreams and desires and priorities ahead of his own. And he's been acting like he'll always be second in her heart to Pawnee and her ambitions, and like that's good enough for him. Like he somehow doesn't deserve more.  
  
That's why this is bothering her so much. Why doesn't Ben think he deserves more? Why does he seem to think that getting the scraps off her table is good enough for him? He's one of the most amazing men she's ever known. His dreams are important. His career is important. And his life is every bit as important as hers. Most importantly, she loves him way more than she loves her job, and he holds just as much of her heart as Pawnee does, if not more. Why doesn't he realize that? And how can she show him just how much he means to her? It's a puzzle that she's not quite sure how to solve.  
  
When she wakes up to the first rays of light streaming through her window, she's amazed to find that Ben was right—things do seem better this morning. She _is_ polling ahead, and she _will_ win. And, she has an idea to show Ben exactly how she feels about him.  
  
*  
  
Monday morning, Leslie feels almost as nervous as she did before she announced her candidacy for city council, though she has no reason to. After all, the outcome of what she's about to do is guaranteed—the outcome of the election is still up in the air.  
  
She takes a deep breath, steels her spine, and strides into Chris's office. She asks his assistant if he's free, and when she gets an answer in the affirmative, she goes all the way in.  
  
"Leslie Knope!" Chris rises from his desk. "So delighted to see you! I'm very excited for your big day tomorrow. I expected you to be out campaigning all day. What brings you to my office?"  
  
"I think the time has come to give you this," she says, holding out a sheet of paper.  
  
Chris takes it, and as he reads it his face falls a little. "Ah. Yes. Well—we all knew this day was coming. I confess, this is the one aspect of your choice to run for office that I was not looking forward to." He looks up from the paper. "Though Melissa," (the woman Chris approved for hire last week to replace Leslie), "looks like a very promising young woman, your daily presence in city hall will be sorely missed. It has truly been a pleasure working with you."  
  
Leslie takes his outstretched hand in a warm handshake. "Thank you so much. But don't worry—I'll still be around plenty. You won't have time to miss me much."  
  
Just then Ben pokes his head in from his office, and Leslie feels a flock of butterflies take off in her stomach. This is the big moment.  
  
"Hey," Ben says with forced casualness. "What's up?"  
  
Chris turns to Ben. "Leslie here has just submitted her formal letter of resignation, and I was expressing how much we'll miss her. Won't we miss her, Ben?"  
  
Ben's eyes get wider. "Yeah. Yeah—we'll miss her a lot. Uh—Leslie, are you sure you want to do this now? I mean, don't you want to wait to find out the results of the election, first?"  
  
Leslie meets his eyes and shakes her head firmly. "No. I've made up my mind. Besides, I really need some time to train Melissa. I already called and asked her to come in tomorrow—if that's all right with you?" She looks back to Chris.  
  
"Yes. Certainly. We can finalize the hire tomorrow, and you can start training her. If you're certain that’s how you want to spend your election day?"  
  
"I am." Leslie nods. Her eyes dart back to Ben, who looks somewhat shell-shocked. "Well, like you said, I have to spend the rest of the day campaigning. But I'll see you tomorrow when I bring Melissa by."  
  
Ben follows her out of the office without even making an excuse to Chris, and he takes her by the elbow as soon as they reach the hall. "What are you doing? Why are you resigning _today_?" he asks when she stops to look up at him. "What if you lose?"  
  
Leslie rolls her eyes. "I thought you were convinced I was going to win?"  
  
"I—I—I am," he stammers. "But there's no way to know for sure until tomorrow night. You might be giving your job up prematurely—"  
  
"No." She cuts him off. "I'm not. I know exactly what I'm doing." She takes a deep breath. "I've done some serious thinking since last night, and I've come to realize that there are some sacrifices that are worth making, and some that aren't worth making. My job is one of the former. And you—" She takes his hand and squeezes it. "—you're one of the latter."  
  
He looks utterly wonderstruck, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slightly open, but no words come out.  
  
Leslie smiles and squeezes his hand even tighter. "Besides—working for the zoo is sure to be lots of fun. Now, I have some volunteers to meet up with for some last minute campaigning. I'll see you around."  
  
After a final squeeze she drops his hand and walks away. She takes one look back over her shoulder, and her heart dances at the sight of the dazed smile on his face.  
  
Yeah. He finally gets it.  
  
*  
  
Leslie's final busy day of campaigning passes in a whirlwind of activity, and doesn't end until after a final round of drinks with her advisors and most active volunteers at a little past eleven Monday night.  
  
Ann drops her off at her house after extracting a promise that she'll sleep. But this is a promise Leslie has a lot of trouble keeping.  
  
She tries a warm bath. And reading. And television. And hot chocolate. Nothing works.  
  
Tomorrow is the biggest day of her life, and right now there's only one thing she wants to do—and one person she wants to be with. So even though it's closing in on 2 am, she hops in her car and drives a few neighborhoods over. She doesn't even bother parking her car around the corner from her destination—she's past caring about trivial details like that.  
  
She sneaks through the gate to the back yard and picks up a few pebbles along the way. After a minute she finds what she's pretty sure is the right window—the window to Ben's bedroom.  
  
After a few minutes of pitching pebbles at the window, the blinds slide up and Ben stands there peering out with a baseball bat clutched in his hand. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees her waving, and he sets down the bat and slides open the window. He smiles as he calls out, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I wanted to see you."  
  
"Why didn't you call first?"  
  
A sensible question. But she doesn't feel very sensible right now. "Because this way is more romantic." He grins even bigger. "Except for the baseball bat," she adds. "What was up with that?"  
  
He shrugs. "I don't know. I thought you might be a robber. Or a raccoon."  
  
"The bat would have worked for a raccoon, but for a robber you should have grabbed a gun."  
  
He frowns. "I don't own a gun."  
  
She holds up her pointer finger in a reproving gesture. "You should. But we'll talk about that later. Can I come in? I have something for you."  
  
His smile leaps back onto his face. "Yeah. I'll come meet you at the back door."  
  
Leslie bounds to the back patio like a playful lion cub (She's been using a lot more wild-animal similes and metaphors since she got the zoo job. She hopes Ben won't mind.) and waits eagerly until he flips on the light and slides open the glass door.  
  
He looks really adorable in his rumpled white tee shirt and plaid boxers, and Leslie's been waiting for this moment for waaaaay too long, so without any preamble she flings herself at him. It's make out time.  
  
Ben has no objections. He returns her kiss with a hungry ferocity that she has no trouble matching. Pretty soon he has her pressed up against the door, and his hands are sliding over her body touching all the places that have been forbidden for so long as if he's trying to make up for lost time. When his mouth slides downward to travel along her jaw-line and up to her ear, she gasps out, "I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I didn't see the point."  
  
"Thank you," he murmurs back.  
  
"You're welcome," she replies with a giggle as he slides his hand up her shirt, tickling her rib cage. "Maybe we should take this inside."  
  
"Absolutely." He takes her hand, finally pulling her across the threshold, and slides the door closed behind them.  
  
They creep through the house on tip-toes, whisper-laughing all the way to Ben's room, like a couple of teenagers trying not to wake suspicious parents.  
  
Once they're safely in his room with the door shut tight, Ben pulls her against him for another deep kiss. God, she's missed this. She's missed him. But she doesn't have to wait anymore. He's all hers from today onward.  
  
He starts fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, which she totally doesn't mind, but she has a few things to say first. She grabs his hands. "I really did bring something for you."  
  
He grins, nuzzling her face with his. "Really? Other than yourself?"  
  
"Yes. But you can have that, too." She laughs.  
  
"Good."  
  
She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her Ben-book. "This is the notebook I've been writing in all month for you. Ann said she gave you one, too."  
  
He takes it, a bemused smile on his face as he starts flipping through it. "She did. But, uh, I decided to write all my thoughts in a document on my iPad, instead. I'll have to email it to you."  
  
"Seriously?" she raises her eyebrows. "Why?"  
  
He shrugs with a guilty look on his face. "Handwriting is a dying art. I don't know. I guess I just like using my iPad."  
  
God, he is such a nerd. But she is, too. That must be one of the reasons they work so well together.  
  
"But this is pretty cool," he says, his eyes scanning the pages of her Ben-book. "Really, cool, actually." His eyes light up. "I like all the unicorns and kiss monsters and stuff. I guess I deprived you of my own artistic efforts when I decided to type instead of write, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes, which is totally not fair." She leans against him, looking down at the page he's stopped on. "That one was supposed to be you riding a unicorn, but your face looked funny so I added glasses and a scar and turned you into Harry Potter, instead."  
  
"Well, Harry Potter riding a unicorn makes so much more sense than me riding a unicorn, anyway." He guides her over to his desk. "Here, let me show you mine." He sits in his chair and pulls her down onto his lap.  
  
He switches on the iPad lying on his desk, and after just a minute he's pulled up his Leslie-document (which is totally not as romantic as a notebook, but whatever. At least he was thinking of her as much as she was thinking of him, given the fact that it looks like he sometimes made more than two dozen entries each day.) They spend a few minutes comparing notes, and laughing about how often they were thinking the same things on the same days. Most of all, looking through everything he wrote, Leslie knows in her heart more than ever that she made the right choice. Ben is the one.  
  
After a few minutes Ben gets quiet.  
  
"What is it?" she asks.  
  
"Well—I was just thinking that it's probably not too late to withdraw your resignation. Are you sure you really want to commit to that before you know the outcome of the election?"  
  
"Yes." She holds his gaze. "I am absolutely, 100% sure. You're what I want." His smile takes on that dazed quality again, like he thinks he's in a dream. She nudges him with her elbow. "Besides—I'm going to win."  
  
He kisses her again. And this time she doesn't stop him when he starts unbuttoning her shirt. It's time to finally do all those things they talked about in their late-night phone calls.  
  
*  
  
Tuesday evening, Leslie waits in her living room watching the television, waiting for the re-run of America's Funniest Home Videos to end and for the local news to start.  
  
Her house is packed with friends and campaign supporters, all gathered around, eager to celebrate her almost certain victory (and ready to console her if the unthinkable happens and she actually loses).  
  
Though her friends offered her a seat front and center on the couch, she turned it down in favor of standing. She's full of too much nervous energy to sit still right now. Flanking her on both sides are her two pillars of strength: Ann on her left, Ben on her right. Ben's been amazingly relaxed and calm all day (Apparently a night of good sex can do that for some guys. Leslie wishes it did that same trick for her.) At least Ann seems just as nervous as Leslie feels—it's nice to have someone to share that with.  
  
Ben reaches out to take her hand as the end credits roll on AFV, and she squeezes his fingers when the news broadcast begins. She's past caring if anyone notices them holding hands in public. The polls just closed, and, with luck, they'll have results before the end of the evening news.  
  
Perd Hapley opens the broadcast with a story about a gang of raccoons terrorizing the new litter of a prize-winning hunting dog, and the owners desperate attempts to drive them off. Then he teases that local election results are coming "later in the hour" before cutting to commercials. A collective groan fills the room.  
  
Everyone starts moving during the commercials, looking for food, or drinks, or new conversation partners.  
  
To take her mind off the election results (which, if she knows local new, won't be announced until the end of the hour), Leslie catches sight of Chris and gestures for him to come over.  
  
"Leslie, this is such an exciting event!" Chris declares. "I can't wait to be among the first to congratulate you."  
  
"I'm so glad you made it," she replies. "Can you join me in the other room, here?" She gestures to her spare room. "There's something I want to tell you in private."  
  
"Certainly," says Chris brightly.  
  
"You too, Ben," says Leslie, leading the way to the empty room, glancing back to make sure Ben is following. Good—he is. And he only looks slightly nervous.  
  
Once they get into the room, Leslie closes the door behind them and turns to face Chris's broad smile. "There's something that Ben and I need to tell you."  
  
Ben shuffles nervously, and Chris glances back and forth between them. "Certainly. What is it?"  
  
Leslie takes a deep breath. "We thought you should hear this from us before getting it second hand from someone else." She includes Ben in her collective "we," though she only made this decision for both of them thirty seconds earlier. "Over the past year the friendship that Ben and I share has blossomed into something more. It's been very difficult for us at work, because we both had feelings that we couldn't ethically act on." (Chris really doesn't need to know about all the times they slipped up. Let the past stay in the past.) "But we thought that you should be the first to know that once Ben is no longer my boss, we intend to start dating."  
  
Chris's smile has faded into a look of stunned surprise—but he doesn't look upset. Just befuddled. "Ben—is this true?" Chris looks to his old friend.  
  
Ben nods. "It is. We—uh—we've been talking about it, and we really want to try this. Dating. Having a serious relationship. Yeah." He looks so adorable when he's flustered.  
  
After another moment of shock, Chris's smile returns. "That's wonderful!"  
  
Ben raises his eyebrows. "It is?"  
  
"Absolutely!" Chris claps his hands together. "While I honestly never would have pictured you as a couple, you've shared such a wonderful friendship, and there is literally nothing more beautiful than witnessing a friendship evolve into something deeper and more lasting. I'm truly happy for you both, and I'm sincerely rooting for the success of your new relationship." He hugs each of them in turn.  
  
This is going better than Leslie ever would have imagined. She didn't even have to lie—just to sidestep the truth a little (okay, a lot).  
  
Chris points at both of them. "And I am so proud of you two for getting through what was undoubted an emotionally difficult dilemma, and waiting until there were no more professional or ethical conflicts before taking your relationship to the next level. That must have been a tremendous struggle for you."  
  
"You have no idea," Ben mutters, and Leslie barely restrains a laugh.  
  
"And because I adore both of you so much," says Chris, "if you decide to embark on this exciting new phase of your relationship this week, while Leslie finishes training her replacement, I'll happily look the other way." He winks at them.  
  
His genuine kindness and enthusiasm sparks a few pangs of guilt in Leslie for misleading him. But she's pretty sure she can live with it. "Thank you, Chris. I really appreciate that."  
  
"Yes. Really appreciate it. In fact, do you think you could give us a minute?" says Ben, smiling, with a rather determined look in his eyes.  
  
Chris immediately picks up on Ben's meaning. "Oh ho—" He laughs. "You don't waste any time, do you, old friend?"  
  
Ben meets Leslie's eyes before he answers. "Not anymore."  
  
Chris sidles out of the room, giving them a big thumbs up before closing the door behind him.  
  
True to his word, Ben wastes no time in pulling Leslie into his arms for a lingering kiss. "Would it be too forward of me to ask if I can spend the night?" he says after they pull apart.  
  
She grins. "Nope. It would be just the right amount of forward. And yes you can." As far as Leslie is concerned, he can stay as many nights as he wants. In fact, it's a habit she plans on encouraging. There's nothing else standing in their way.  
  
"Good." He kisses her again, and it amazes her that her heart still flutters and her stomach still flops every time he does that. She hopes she never grows out of feeling this way.  
  
"Now," he says, grasping her hand and pulling her toward the door, "let's go listen to Perd give us the good news."  
  
She still feels a twinge of nerves every time Perd teases the election results without actually announcing them, but just a twinge.  
  
Finally, after covering high school baseball, the grand opening of a new shoe store, and a pathetic attempt at national news, Perd finally announces the results of the local election.  
  
"Ralph Gunderson was reelected to his sixth term as Mayor of Pawnee. And three new faces were elected to join Pawnee city council: John Beals, Ronda Farley, and Leslie Knope."  
  
Perd's voice is immediately drowned out by the spontaneous eruption of applause from all her guests.  
  
Leslie takes Ben's hand and raises it along with her own in a gesture of triumph.  
  
Life feels just about perfect.

 

The End


End file.
